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COPYHIGIIT DEPOSIT. 










AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN 


Works of 

Frances Hodges White 

£ 

Helena's Wonder world 
Aunt Nabby's Children 
4s 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
200 Summer Street, Boston, Mass. 




THE DINNER PARTY, 


{See page 46). 



(fosg Corner Series 


AUNT NABBY’S 
CHILDREN 


By / 

Frances Hodges White 

Author of “ Helena’s Wonderworld 


Illustrated by 

Wallace Goldsmith 



Boston j* £ J* 

L. C. Page & Company 

& £ & £ £ 1901 


1 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Cowes Receded 

OCT. 29 190) 

Copyright entry 

ht>-fq a 

CLASS CL XXo. No. 

X o c> o S' 

COPY 3. 



OI-OS3-2S 


Copyright, rgor 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 

All rights reserved 


c «* c o < ■ r ° c 

M C t < 

t C C Cl * 

' r r c! 



GToIonfal ^9resc 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co 
Boston Mass. U. S. A. 


The Dinner Party {see page 46) . Frontispiece ^ 

“‘This is it, here in my arms’” . . . w S ' 

“Both children fell fast asleep” . . 29 

“All that day the children worked joy- 
fully ” 36 s 

“ The three children hastened hand in 

HAND ” 37 

“ ‘ I HAVE PUT IT OUT MY BEDROOM WINDOW ’ ” 41 

“ And then passed out the gate and down 

THE HILL” 55 

“ Read the letter through without a 

CHANGE OF EXPRESSION ” . . .64 

“ * Now EVERYBODY’S GOT BABIES OF THEIR 

OWN ’” . -67 

“ Every day he borrowed the violin ” . .89 

“ He brought the fiddle with him ” . . 97 ^ 







. 


* I 



AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN, 


CHAPTER I. 

Aunt Nabby lived in the little wood-coloured 
house at the summit of the hill from which the 
winding village road led down to Putnam Mills. 

To visitors entering the town it was a matter 
of wonder where the settlement got the plural 
ending to its name, for the only mill of which 
it could boast was a single sawmill that sang 
lazily all the summer days, sending its soothing 
murmur up the hill to greet Aunt Nabby. It 
sounded for all the world like a great con- 
tented bumblebee droning his flight from flower 
to flower, and causing Aunt Nabby to drop 
stitches in her after-dinner knitting ; then it 
lulled her head into sudden bows and jerks, 
which she would be loth to confess, even to the 
great poppies and hollyhocks in her garden, 


? 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN, 


that bowed and nodded back to her while 
she slept. 

If it was doubtful where the village got its 
name, then it was almost as much so how Aunt 
Nabby came by hers. Those who had known 
her long and intimately spoke the name tenderly, 
and allowed it to linger on their tongues as if it 
brought pleasant memories with it. They had 
almost forgotten that she had been christened 
Nancy Abby Pameley Quest, but they would 
have told the stranger that her father, whose 
idol she had been, had blessed her with the 
name of Abby, and that the mother had given 
the child her own favourite name of Nancy ; 
and so to one she was always Nancy, and to the 
other she remained Abby, till the poor child 
became so accustomed to this jumble of names 
that slje answered to both with equal prompt- 
ness ; but when asked her name by a stranger, 
she was so confused that she began with Nancy 
and ended up with Abby. The result was a 
compromise between her parents, and she be- 
came just plain Nabby, and remained so till she 
had reached middle life, and had grown so dear 
to every heart in the village, and had taken 
them all into her own great heart so fully, that 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


3 


she was Aunt Nabby to every living thing, from 
the parson of the little white church down to 
the fluffy yellow chickens running about her 
garden. 

Aunt Nabby was of medium height, with a 
head of long, brown, pipe-stem curls, that hung 
about her shoulders, and formed a fitting back- 
ground for her large dark eyes, which were 
meltingly tender when she looked at things she 
loved, and grew fiercely black when the one pro- 
fessed object of her hatred — “ Square Sslib ” — 
drove past the house in his two-wheeled sulky. 

She was out in the garden now, working 
among her flowers and herbs, and talking to 
herself as usual. As she stooped to sniff a 
bush of wild southernwood, a short dark curl 
fell over her forehead, and covered caressingly 
a small wen that protruded just above her left 
eye, and was the one burden of grief which she 
carried locked in her proud old heart. She 
smiled faintly now, and pushed back the curl 
almost impatiently. 

Aunt Nabby was exactly like her father, and 
the wen on her forehead was the one thing in- 
herited from him of which she was not proud. 
He had been known in the town as “ Square ” 


4 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


Quest, despite the round roly-poly little form, 
and the three straight tiers of double chin, 
which he had handed down to Aunt Nabby, and 
which lay in soft folds on her generous breast, 
covering almost entirely the pure white hand- 
kerchief and huge cameo pin which she always 
wore. In fact, everything about Aunt Nabby 
was generous, even to her purse strings, that 
seemed to untie themselves at sight of want or 
suffering. But the most attractive thing about 
her was her voice, which was low, pure, and clear 
when she spoke, and made us love her whether 
we would or not. 

It was whispered about the village that Aunt 
Nabby had been the heroine of a love-affair in 
her girlhood, but no living mortal had ever dared 
to lisp a word of it to her. Each knew, however, 
beyond a doubt, that the reason of her seeming 
hatred of “ Square Sslib ” was that she had once 
loved him, and found him false, and now to her 
“ a sterner thing than hate, was love grown 
cold,” and she frowned only when he passed 
the house, or took part in the village prayer- 
meeting. 

But if Heaven had denied her a husband 
and little flock of her own, it seemed to have 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


5 


done so wisely, for the arrangement had left 
her ample time to look after the desolate homes, 
and hungry, uncared-for flocks of others in the 
village. 

There were several strongly marked traits in 
her character, and among these were the love 
of flowers and herbs, her passion for poetry, 
and her professed hatred of Squire Sslib — and 
spiders. 

She brushed the curl again impatiently from 
her forehead, and looked up with startled eye 
to see who was scaring her favourite speckled 
hen, that came running into the yard with wide- 
stretched wings, and loud squawkings at the 
dust which pursued her, and covered Aunt 
Nabby’s bright black merino. 

Squire Sslib was driving past in his two- 
wheeled gig, and Nabby turned a wrathful 
countenance from him, and walked toward the 
house. 

“The sinful old spider,” she said aloud, “if I 
could ketch him, I’d give him a dose er worm- 
wood and gall ; ’twouldn’t be no bitterer’n some 
er the tricks he’s played on other folks,” and 
she gave her sunbonnet strings such a jerk that 
they seemed to jump with Aunt Nabby at the 


6 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


sound of a silvery-toned little voice, speaking 
close beside her, and saying : 

“ How do yer do, missis, can’t you tell me 
what’s your name ? ” 

Aunt Nabby thought the wee voice had 
dropped from the skies, but when she turned 
around she saw a real live little girl standing in 
the path just inside the gate. She was so tiny 
that she looked to be not over four years of age, 
and as though she ought to be at home in her 
mother’s arms, Aunt Nabby thought. But she 
stood quite unabashed, dividing her attentions 
between caressing a soft white kitten that she 
cuddled in her neck, and the glances which she 
bestowed upon Aunt Nabby, with great red- 
brown, wondering eyes. Her face was dirty and 
stained with blueberries, which she had evidently 
been eating by the roadside, and she carried a 
little covered basket hanging on her arm. Her 
hair fell about her face in showers of red-brown 
curls, that vied with the tint of her eyes, and 
seemed to hold all the light of the sunshine in 
their tangled rings. She wore ankle-ties that 
had seen their best days, and her pink chubby 
legs were bare, and covered with scratches. 
She had on a short flannel petticoat and a blue 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


7 


checkered pinafore with its strings trailing be- 
hind her. A soft gray slouch hat, evidently her 
brother’s, with the rim turned down, was drawn 
low over her ears, and all along the under edge of 
the brim butter cups were twined, and held in 
place by their stems, which were tucked under 
the hat crown. They fell about her face in a 
perfect halo of gold, blending with her eyes and 
hair in a glory that made Aunt Nabby catch her 
breath in delight, and answer the little maiden 
with as much courtesy as if she had been a 
grown-up woman. 

“My name is Aunt Nabby, but who are 
you ? ” 

“Kate.” 

“ Kate what, and where do you live ? ” 

“Jest plain Kate, an’ I lives at the poor-farm.” 

Aunt Nabby smothered a little scream of 
horror and pursued her questioning. 

“Don’t know jest how long I’ve lived there,” 
the child continued. “Joe can tell yer. Joe’s 
my brother, an’ I love him, I do. Ever been 
ter the poor-farm, Aunt Nabby ? ” and she spoke 
the name with a simple trust that went straight 
to Aunt Nabby’s heart and found a home there 
for all the years to come. 


8 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


“No, Kate, I hain’t be’n there fer a long 
time.” She was eyeing the child with unusual 
interest now, which was answered in a consoling 
voice : 

“ Never been ter the farm ? Well, I’m awful 
sorry for yer, yer ought to come up there an’ 
live. It’s a real nice place, where only aristo- 
crats can live. Joe says so, anyway. ’Tain’t 
called the poor-farm cause it’s poor, did yer fink 
so ? No, it’s only cause it’s named fer a man 
what used ter own the land, and his name was 
Fearful Poor. That’s what Joe said ! Say, Aunt 
Nabby, you look like a ’ristocrat ; can’t yer 
come up ter the poor-farm an’ live if yer want 
ter ? ” 

She looked up now under Aunt Nabby’ s sun- 
bonnet with her great trustful eyes, and said, in 
a faltering whisper : 

“Say, Aunt Nabby, what’s that big bunch 
on yer forehead ? ” 

Aunt Nabby made a nervous clutch at the 
little curl and pulled it over the offending bump, 
and then she said : 

“ Lor’ sakes ! child, it’s yaller dock j/ou need ; 
curiosity’s in the blood, and petticoats don’t 
make no difference ; the short ones is jest as 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


9 


curous as long ones, and yer need a dose er 
dock, as sure’s the world, ter drive it out ! ” She 
looked with deep concern at Kate, who was 
busying herself now, trying to replace the cover 
on her basket. 

“ Say, yer don’t know what I come over ter 
the store fer, do yer ? ” 

Aunt Nabby’s face softened again at the 
happy voice. “ No, Kate, I don’t.” 

“ Well, yer see we been troubled a lot at the 
farm with mice, an’ one mornin’ when Joe gut up 
ter dress hisself, what do yer s’pose happened ? ” 
Here she went off into such a merry peal of 
laughter that the kitten in her arms looked 
frightened, and tried to get away. 

“ He don’t like ter hear me talk about mices, 
does he ? ” and she patted him into purring once 
again. “ Well, I was tellin’ you that one mornin’ 
when Joe got up, he went to the suller door ter 
get his trousers, and what do yer fink ? When 
he went ter put his feet in, a wee wee little 
mousie jumped right out at him, an’ run away! 
We tried ter ketch him, — but we didn’t, — an’ 
Joe said he wished we had a mouse-trap, an’ so 
I jest started off ter buy one with the money 
Square Sslib give me last night.” 


IO 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


Aunt Nabby’s face grew crimson at sound 
of the Squire’s name, but she made no reply, 
and the child continued : 

“ Say, who’s your overseer ? Is he Square 
Sslib ? No? I’m awful sorry. He’s awful 
nice, did yer know it ? He comes ter see me, 
an’ brings me candy, an’ rocks me in his arms ; 
oh ! he’s so nice, I love him next ter Joe.” 

This was almost too much for Aunt Nabby, 
who, trying to change the subject, broke in 
abruptly with the remark : 

“ Kate, you have a very dirty face, did you 
know it ? ” 

“ Have I ? I washed it Sunday ! Say, Aunt 
Nabby, does Square Sslib pay your rent and 
board when the monf is up, and have the walls 
round your bed whitewashed, an’ — an’ every- 
fing ? ” 

“ Hush, child ! no, of course he don’t ; I have 
to do that myself.” 

The great brown eyes were raised to Aunt 
Nabby’s face with a look of melting pity, as she 
said, in a voice that was hushed and sad : “ Oh, 
I’m so sorry fer you ; say, I’m awful sorry, an’, 
if you say so, I’ll go to see the Square this very 
day, and tell him ter come over here an’ see 





“‘THIS IS IT, HERE IN MY ARMS. 


* 









AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 1 3 

you. An’ I’ll tell him to bring you a stick 
er strip-ped candy — an’ some big red apples, 
an’ — an’ — some copper-toed boots, an’ I’ll tell 
him ter rock you in his arms, jest like he does 
me- — -’cause it’s awful nice, an’ you ain’t ser 
very fat, Aunt Nabby, — no fatter’n he is, — 
an’ say, you look somefin’ like him ! ” 

Aunt Nabby’s face flushed, as if she had been 
broiling over a hot fire, but she only covered it 
with her sunbonnet, and stood resigned, as the 
child continued : 

“ How many times a day can you have bread 
and ’lasses ? ” 

“ Jest as often as I want it, but you surely 
must have a dose er yaller dock ! ” 

“ Git any butter on yer bread, Aunt Nabby ? 
I do if I’m good, an’ if I’m awful good, gooder’n 
the angels, or J oe, I get two plates er soup ! 
Say, you didn’t say how you like my mouse- 
trap.” 

“ I didn’t see it,” came the reply, in a voice 
beginning to vibrate with unusual interest. 

“Yer didn’t see it ? Why, yes yer did ; this 
is it, here in my arms. I give Mr. Store-keeper 
ten cents, an’ asked him fer a mouse-trap, an’ 
this is what he give me ; but he wouldn’t stay 


14 AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 

in the basket, an’ so I jest carry him in my 
arms,” and she nestled the kitty closer. 

“Say, does the Square make you work fer 
your board ? He used ter pay mine, but now 
he says I’m most old enough ter wash dishes 
fer it, an’ he guesses he’ll take me home an’ let 
me help him ; ’n’ then he said the town’s money 
was givin’ out, an’ he kissed me ; but I sha’n’t 
leave Joe, an’ I won’t budge an inch fer him, 
would you ? ” 

Enough had been said, and Aunt Nabby, with 
one fell swoop, gathered Kate in her arms, and, 
bearing the struggling, writhing child into the 
house, closed the door behind her with a bang. 
“ The sarsy old spider ; how his mouth must 
taste after sech cruel words ter that blessed 
child. ’Twouldn’t be wormwood I’d give him 
now, but I’d jest wash out his mouth with a 
good dose er sand an’ soft soap, if I had a holt 
er him.” 

At first Kate resented Aunt Nabby’s ad- 
vances toward her, but when she looked about 
the kitchen, and felt the cool comfort of the 
room taking possession of her, she settled 
quietly down in the ample lap that was holding 
her, and went on with her questioning. Only 


AUNT NABBY* S CHILDREN. 1 5 

once for the whole day did she allow the sweet 
sunshine of her smile to be clouded, and that 
was when Aunt Nabby tried to wash her face 
before dinner. Then a fountain of tears was 
let loose, and mixed with the dust and grime 
on her cheeks, that afterward shone like the 
petals of a soft pink rose when Aunt Nabby 
had finished washing them. " But yer shouldn’t 
ought ter done it,” Kate persisted; "it ain’t 
Sunday. Where be I goin’, Aunt Nabby ? ” 
And she looked up through the tears with a 
happy smile again. 


CHAPTER II. 


“Her hair is sunny and curly too, 

Her cheeks are pink as a rose; 

She has two eyes so soft and blue, 

And a dear little turned up nose.” 

This was Elizabeth, Aunt Nabby’s small 
niece, who had been left a motherless child at 
two years of age, and who had found a home 
at Aunt Nabby’s house, and a mother in her, 
ever since. She was now six summers old, and 
during all the time that Kate stood in the yard 
nestling the white kitten in her neck, Elizabeth 
was looking out with wondering eyes at the 
little stranger. “ Who could she be ? and how 
she would love to have that precious kitten all 
her own self ! ” But when Kate came into the 
house struggling and crying in Aunt Nabby’s 
arms, Beth thought wonders would never cease. 
She walked around the child several times, and 
made a mental note of the fact that “ she would 
be very pretty if only her face was clean.” And 
when this objection was removed, and she 
16 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. \*J 

learned that Kate was a homeless orphan, her 
own heart, which was growing to be full of 
kindness under the sunshine of Aunt Nabby’s 
love, opened wide, and took in the little waif, 
and adopted her on the spot for her very own. 

She danced around her lightly and kissed her 
on the cheek, and Kate pulled her flaxen curls 
and screamed with delight. 

“ Can’t we keep her here with us, Aunt 
Nabby ? Please do, I do so want a little sister,” 
and she threw her arms around Aunt Nabby’s 
neck and gave her a kiss on her cheek that 
settled the matter for ever, in the old lady’s 
mind. 

After dinner the sun went into a cloud, and 
Aunt Nabby looked down the hill toward the 
village with anxious eyes. 

“They’ll be missin’ the child, and cornin’ 
after her,” she said ; and then turning to Eliza- 
beth, she asked her if she thought she could 
take care of Kate for an hour, while she went 
to the poor-farm to make some inquiries about 
the little stranger. Beth was very sure she was 
perfectly well able to do so, and Aunt Nabby 
set out down the hill with the rain falling fast 
on her green umbrella. 


1 8 AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 

It was a good mile walk to the poor-farm, 
but she covered the ground with rapid steps ; 
and her face, although mild and dreamy by 
spells, for the most part was very firm. She 
had decided to adopt the child if she could get 
a “clear title” to her. When she reached the 
farm she found Joe with a white face and tear- 
stained eyes, searching about the house and 
barn, looking into the pig-pens, under the wood- 
piles, and even into the buttermilk-barrel and 
mustard box, for the little sister so dear to his 
heart, who had been away from him all that 
endless day. No one else there seemed at all 
disturbed. Joe had usually taken care of her, 
and they supposed he was doing so now. 

Aunt Nabby learned that these two children 
had been at the farm since Kate was a baby, 
and the overseer told her, further, that no one 
knew who they were, or where they came from. 
It was said that one dreary stormy night in 
midwinter old Bob, the stage-driver, had left a 
woman and two children at the village tavern, 
where they took a room for the night. The 
boy seemed like one who had suffered a long 
illness, and realised nothing that was going 
on around him, and the baby was too small 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 1 9 

either to see or care, and cried constantly for 
“ Mamma.” The woman with them appeared 
to be a maid or governess, and was very kind 
and patient to the children, but she pretended 
to be constantly watching the mail for a letter 
which did not come ; and after three days of 
waiting, she hired a team from the stable “ to 
drive to Rockland on important business,” she 
said, and asked permission to leave the children 
with the landlady till her return, when she 
expected to bring their mother to join them. 
The horse was afterward found in a Waldoboro 
stable, but the woman was never seen or heard 
from again. The children were, for a time, 
kindly cared for by the good landlord of the 
hotel, but having a family of his own to support, 
the little strangers were finally located at the 
poor-farm, while a sharp lookout for the missing 
woman was kept by Bob, and, in fact, every 
member of the village who had seen her. 

Aunt Nabby returned home with a sober 
face. She knew the old story of these strange 
children, but she was disappointed that Kate 
had proved to be one of them. Upon one 
thing, however, her mind was settled : she would 
keep the child, “ title er no title ! ” Squire 


20 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


Sslib should never have her. It seemed a pity 
to separate the brother and sister, but Joe 
could come every single day to see her if he 
wished, and so Kate’s future was decided, and 
the bright sunshine of Aunt Nabby’s heart 
shone out upon her life, and reflected its rays 
on every soul who looked into her sunny, 
twinkling eyes. 

As for Elizabeth, she was supremely happy. 
Her daily prayer had been answered, and she 
was to have the little sister her heart so long 
had craved ; and she proceeded to claim her in 
a sisterly way, that Kate, scarcely more than a 
babe, and devoted to her brother as she was, at 
once resented. But Elizabeth was not to be 
denied this long cherished hope, and she con- 
tinued to call her “ sister,” and to watch over her 
carefully every hour of the day. 

“Who do yer love, Kate?” she would say 
tenderly, throwing her arm around the child’s 
neck, with the vain hope that she would reply, 
“You, sister ; ” but over and again she was dis- 
appointed, for Kate’s only answer was : 

“Jesus, of course!” Then Elizabeth’s blue 
eyes would fill with tears, and she would insist : 

“Yes, Kate, I know it, of course you do, 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


21 


everybody loves Him, but who else do you 
love ? ” 

“Jest Jesus an’ Joe;” and Beth would hide 
her face in Aunt Nabby’s shoulder to dry the 
tears of which she was ashamed. 

If Aunt Nabby had decided for the hundredth 
time in her life to do a charitable act, it was 
evidently not to be a burden to her, for the love 
which she at once extended to the orphan child, 
made the care of her a delight rather than 
otherwise. 

When she returned from the poor-farm it was 
nearly dark, and the two children were watching 
for her, with their faces pressed close against 
the window-pane, and at the first glimpse of 
her they ran out hand in hand to meet her. 

“Did you see Joe, Aunt Nabby? where is 
he ? why didn’t you bring him ? ” and Kate burst 
into tears. 

“ He is a-comin’ in the mornin’, dear, after 
you have slept. He sent a kiss and his love 
to yer, and was very glad to hear that yer wus 
safe.” 

“But where’s the kiss, Aunt Nabby, and 
where’s the love ? Why don’t you give them to 
me, and what did you bring them in ? You might 


22 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


have had my little basket, and oh, why didn’t I 
send Joe the mouse-trap ! ” 

The rain had cleared, and a soft twilight was 
falling in the little kitchen as the happy children 
entered with Aunt Nabby. Kate’s kitty was 
fast asleep on the rug in front of the table, and 
Kate, already tired, stretched herself beside it, 
and fell fast asleep also. It was with difficulty 
that they aroused her to eat supper, after which 
she cuddled in Aunt Nabby’s arms and almost 
fell asleep before she could undress her. 

“Say yer prayer now, Kate,” Aunt Nabby 
crooned, “and then we’ll go right away ter 
dreamland.” 

“ What shall I say ? I don’t know any prayer ; 
what is it ? ” 

Elizabeth and Aunt Nabby exchanged horri- 
fied glances, but the latter said : “ Isn’t there 
somethin’, Kate, yer would like ter say ter God, 
before yer go ter sleep ? Some one yer would 
like ter ask Him ter take care of through the 
night ? ” 

“Yes, there’s Joe. What shall I say?” 

“Jest what yer want ter, beginnin’ with ‘ Dear 
Jesus,’ and then askin’ Him fer anything yer 
want.” 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


23 


But Kate was too far on the road to dream- 
land to think much about praying as she 
began : 

“Dear Jesus, won’t you please bless Joe fer 
me, and — and — say, they’s a lot er fings I’d like 
ter say to you, God, but please do it all fer me 
without my asking, ’cause Kate’s so tired,” and 
almost before the words had left her lips, her 
eyes were closed and she was resting trustingly 
on Aunt Nabby’s breast, with Joe and the poor- 
farm far away. 

“ She’s a queer child,” Aunt Nabby said, as 
she kissed her cheek and laid her tenderly on 
her own pillow. “ She’s as playful an’ gentle 
as that little white kitten, but she can be as 
peppery, too, I dare say. I meant ter have 
give her a dose er yaller dock ter-night, but 
mebby mornin’ll do jest as well,” and she 
bustled about to wash the tea things, and 
start a fire in the open fireplace, for the 
evening was cool. 

At length, when her work was done, Aunt 
Nabby sat down before the fire, and, rocking 
herself steadily, gazed into the burning embers 
with empty hands. It was quite unusual for 
her to sit without her knitting work, but to- 


24 AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 

night she was agitated, and forgot everything 
save the feeling of Kate’s soft baby head nestling 
against her breast. “She’s ser little,” she said 
aloud, but Beth was buried in her primer and 
was deaf to all sounds. “Yes, she’s ser little,” 
Aunt Nabby continued, “an’ ser pritty, it’s no 
wonder the Squire wants her hisself ! but he 
won’t git her ! ” and then she fell to dreaming 
again. The bright golden locks had twined them- 
selves around her heart, and Aunt Nabby was 
wondering if all mothers loved their children as 
she loved these two little girls, and what it really 
would mean to have a baby head all her own 
nestling on her shoulder. 

She turned to an old secretary standing 
across the corner of the kitchen, and, opening 
its green curtained doors, took out a scrap- 
book of unusual dimensions. She always read 
poetry when stirred by any unusual emotions, 
and now she read aloud in her soft musical 
voice, after searching some time for these par- 
ticular verses : 

“ ‘We are here on the borders of Rock-a-by Lake, 

Dolly, and baby, and I ; 

From afar on its bosom, dreams beckon my babe, 

And the waves mirror stars in the sky. 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


25 


“ ‘ But the night has long closed around Rock-a-by Lake, 
And the stars on its bosom still shine ; 

And its dreams beckon on, while the world beckons me, 
Yet my baby’s eyes laugh into mine.’ ” 

A little chuckle made Aunt Nabby shut her 
book in surprise, for close beside her stood Kate 
looking up at her with great wondering eyes. 
“ Go on, please, Aunt Nabby,” she said. “ Don’t 
stop. I like that, an’ Joe likes it, too. Here’s 
you’ baby, Aunt Nabby, but where’s the dolly ? 
an’ here’s the rock-a-by,” placing her hand on 
the chair, “ but where’s the lake ? Please say 
some more,” and she climbed into Aunt Nabby’s 
lap and opened the book before her. 

The words seemed to take on a deeper mean- 
ing as the happy woman, rocking and cuddling 
the little waif, continued : 

“ ‘ Dearest, sleep ! It were better that thou shouldst em- 
brace 

The dreams that are calling to thee ; 

Though e’er in thy wakefulness, methinks I trace 
God’s guiding hand beckoning me. 

“‘For the world fain would lure me to pleasures that 
wait, 

But to feel in mine arms thou dost live — 


2 6 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


And to gaze in thine eyes with their heaven-lit smile 
Is a sacred joy worlds cannot give. 

“ ‘ So we’re here on the borders of Rock-a-by Lake, 
Dolly, and baby, and I ; 

And we rock in the starlight of loving content, 

We will float into dreams by and by.’ ” 

Kate’s eyes were shut tight when Aunt Nabby 
finished, though she was winking hard with 
the closed lids, trying to make believe she was 
sound asleep. “ Dolly, an’ baby, an’ I,” she 
repeated. “Joe says that, an’ it makes Kate 
sleepy,” and she cuddled down as if the poetry 
had a soothing effect upon her ; but when her 
eyes had closed once more, and their blinking 
had almost ceased, a scream from the farther 
end of the room opened them wide again, and 
made Aunt Nabby spring from her chair and 
hold the child closer in her arms. “ Lor’ a 
massy, Elizabeth, what ails you ? ” 

Beth was turned with a scared white face 
toward the front window, and being too fright- 
ened to speak, she could only point her finger, 
where, following its direction, Aunt Nabby saw 
the small pale face of a boy, looking in with 
hungry eyes at Kate, who, having seen him 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 27 

already, had slipped from Aunt Nabby’s arms 
and was running as fast as her little legs could 
carry her, out into the night to meet him. 

It was Joe, who had found the poor-farm all 
too lonely without the darling of his heart, and 
who had come over narrow bridges, and grue- 
some places, and braved the terrors of the dark- 
ness, to see his little sister before he slept, and 
to kiss her good night. 

After her first delighted greetings were over, 
Kate pounced upon Joe and dragged him into 
the house. He looked a little shamefaced when 
he met Elizabeth’s great questioning eyes, but he 
only pulled off his old hat awkwardly, and said : 
“ Y er know she’s all I’ve got, and the farm seemed 
kind er dark without her, an’ my room wus too 
lonesome to sleep,” and he shivered and drew 
near the fire. Aunt Nabby looked at him 
searchingly for a moment, and then she pulled 
the old hair- cloth sofa close beside the fireplace, 
and brought out a warm bright quilt and spread 
it open before the fire. “ Yer can sleep here ter- 
night, Joe ; the’ hain’t no use in your goin’ back 
ter the farm, it’s too dark.” 

Joe seemed slow to comprehend what she 
meant, but at last his great brown eyes, so ex- 


28 AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 

actly like his sister’s, opened wide and filled with 
tears. 

“Thank yer,” he said, simply, and threw him- 
self upon the lounge and stretched his arms wide 
open. In an instant Kate flew to fill them, and 
the children lay side by side looking into the 
fire. The only word either spoke in their happi- 
ness came from Kate, who glanced over Joe’s 
shoulder reprovingly at Beth as she spoke : “ She 
says I’m her sister, Joe, but I ain’t, I’m only 
yours.” And then both children fell fast asleep 
with a smile of love lighting their orphan faces. 






CHAPTER III. 


When Aunt Nabby entered the kitchen the 
next morning, it seemed very much as if she 
had taken in three homeless waifs instead of 
one ; for the white kitten had perched herself 
on the back of the old sofa, where she looked 
roguishly down at the children, and extended her 
paw every now and then, to cuff Kate’s tangled 
ringlets into a greater confusion, which the 
owner seemed to enjoy, for she screamed with 
delight, and snatching the kitten from off the 
sofa hugged and kissed it ; then turning to Joe, 
repeated her caresses with such tenderness that 
she brought the tears to Aunt Nabby ’s eyes. 
“ Bless the child, p’r’aps she don’t need the 
yaller dock ter-day, I’ll jest wait an’ see ’fore 
I give it to her.” 

Joe remained all that day with the children, 
and Beth, who during her life had enjoyed only 
the ducks and the old “ Creamer ” hen for play- 
mates, was now supremely happy. She called 
31 


3 2 AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 

the favourite speckled hen, and, perching her on 
her shoulder, whispered to her while she stroked 
her soft gray wings : 

“ Yer musn’t be jealous now, Biddy Creamer, 
cause these is the first children Beth has ever 
had to play with, and she’s wanted some more’n 
you can ever know, Biddy ! ” Miss Biddy tipped 
her head on one side, and looked knowingly at 
Beth, as if she sympathised with her fully, and 
then she hopped down and proceeded to make 
friends with the white kitten that reached out 
her paw and touched playfully the bright red 
comb, which was the pride of Miss Biddy’s 
heart. Then Beth took Joe and Kate to the 
barn-yard to introduce them to the pompous old 
drake and duck, that came out to meet her with 
welcoming squawks. “These is my friends,” 
she said, solemnly, “and we play together all 
day long ; but I’ll play with you children to- 
day,” and she cast a glance toward her old 
friends as if in apology. 

Down from the hill in Aunt Nabby’s field, 
a little brook babbled on to the mill stream, 
and here on its banks the children wandered and 
found shelter from the sun in a thick clump of 
willow bushes. Under their feet new shoots 


aunt nabby’s children. 33 

from the willow had grown so thickly that Joe 
was obliged to bring his jack-knife into service, 
and cut clear a path for the girls to enter. 
Here in the heart of the bushes a small mound, 
marked by a rough wooden slab, told the spot 
where Aunt Nabby’s yellow dog lay buried. 
“ It was more than a year ago,” she said to the 
children, “ when that precious little critter came 
a-hobblin’ home on three legs, ’cause that mis- 
erable old spider of a Square Sslib had put a 
bullet through his leg. I did all I could ter 
save him. I did my best, but ’twa’n’t no use. 
I give him sassyfras, ter kill the pizen, an’ I 
poured a half a bottle er Perry Davis’s Pain 
Killer down his blessed little throat, an’ I put 
burdock draughts on all four of his feet, cause 
I see he wus in a high fever. But it didn’t do 
no good, an’ then I jest give him a dose er 
poppy tea that put him ter sleep fer good an’ 
all ! an’ now he’s a-restin’ down there in them 
wilier bushes, an’ the little brook sings ter him 
all day long.” 

Aunt Nabby’s story made a great impression 
on Joe, and to him this spot was hallowed 
ground. “Let us build a playhouse here,” he 
whispered to Beth, “and keep Fido company 


34 aunt nabby’s children. 

all day.” Joe loved the singing of the brook, 
and he loved, too, the sound of Aunt Nabby’s 
low sweet voice, for there seemed to be some- 
thing missing from his life ; perhaps it was the 
link that bound him to his past, for he was con- 
scious of a great yearning to remember, which 
sweet and musical sounds helped to soothe. 
What was it ? No one could tell. He was very 
small, not larger than a boy of twelve, and it 
would be hard to guess his age. His face was 
pale and delicate, almost like a girl’s, and the 
same great red-brown eyes that twinkled in 
Kate’s face, lighted his with a hungry, sad 
expression, that went straight to Aunt Nabby’s 
heart. In some things Joe’s mind was that of 
a child, but in others he was a man. There 
seemed to be a strange understanding existing 
between him and the birds, the cattle, and, in 
fact, all the inhabitants of the woods, fields, and 
pastures, through which he roamed. They had 
told Aunt Nabby at the farm, that sometimes 
he wandered off for days, and lived with the 
animals which came at his call ; for so exactly 
could he mimic them that they took him to be 
one of their kind, nor did they run away when 
they saw it was but a boy. Birds hopped over 


aunt nabby’s children. 35 

his hands, and rabbits nibbled the grass at his 
feet without fear, and Joe loved them and was 
one of them. 

And now he sat in the willow bushes, and 
listened with a far away look on his face to the 
singing of the brook. How happy he was, and 
how that song of nature entered into his heart, 
and made him a child no longer, but a man 
capable of thinking like other men, and kept 
him there, he thought, to guard and take care 
of those two little girls. There was a firm 
friendship already established between him and 
Beth, and Kate saw and understood, as over 
and over again she threw her arms around his 
neck, and cried, “ Beth is not Joe’s sister, only 
Kate is ; ” and she pouted at Beth, and scolded 
her all the day, till Beth quite forgot her usual 
sweet nature, and pulled Kate’s curls till she 
cried. 

Joe awoke from his dream then, and tried to 
make the girls forget they had ever quarrelled. 
“ Come with me,” he said, “and you shall gather 
ferns to carpet our little playhouse, so we may live 
here all the day, and keep poor Fido company, 
and listen to the brook, and then we will be 
happy and good.” And all that day the children 


36 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


worked joyfully, gathering 
ferns which they scattered 
over the floors of their 
apartments, that Joe had 
cut out from the bushes 
into little rooms ; so each 
had her own home, from 
which she could go calling 
on her neighbour, and in 
which she could receive 
callers. The walls were 
hung with garlands of wild 
daisies and sweet clover, 
and little chains of 
lilac leaves, pinned to- 
gether with their own 
stems, were draped JMT/ 
in festoons over / /! 

their heads. There ' 
were pillows of 
ferns to rest upon, pillows 
more fragrant than a king 
or queen could ever boast ^ 
of, and their sweetness 






“ THE THREE CHILDREN HASTENED HAND IN HAND, 






AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 39 

entered into the children’s lives, and stayed 
with them always, and made them happier for it, 
just as the song of the brook purified Joe and 
made him a better boy. 

A salt box turned upside down served as a 
tea-table for them, and their food was the box- 
berry “pip,” and raspberry pies, made of berries 
laid temptingly between the tender raspberry 
leaves. 

What a pleasant day it had been to Beth and 
Joe ! But the sun was already sinking low over 
the old mountain road, and hark! yes, there 
was Aunt Nabby’s supper-bell ringing in the 
distance, and the three children hastened hand 
in hand back up the hill, to eat the tempting 
food Aunt Nabby had so lovingly prepared for 
them. Her face fairly shone with happiness as 
the children gathered about her table, and only 
Kate looked a little grieved. “ She sha’n’t take 
hold er your hand ag’in, Joe,” she said, as he 
arose to bid them good-bye, and she scowled at 
Beth, who was almost ready to cry. 

It was late when Joe left the house for the 
poor-farm, and twice Aunt Nabby caught her 
breath as if she would speak, and ran to the 
window to look out after him, and twice she sat 


40 AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 

down again without a word. All that evening 
she rocked before the fire without her knitting- 
work, and gazed into the embers as if some 
great question were perplexing her, and three 
times she said aloud : “ A boy’s a handy thing 
ter have about the place, it’s no use talkin’.” 
The last time she spoke, she was conscious, just 
as she finished, of a little hand resting con- 
fidingly on hers, and when she looked down 
Beth was standing by her side, her eyes raised 
to Aunt Nabby’s face with a mysterious expres- 
sion shining in them. She placed her finger to 
her lips warningly, and glanced toward the door 
of Kate’s room. “ Hush, Aunt Nabby,” she 
whispered, “don’t you make a noise to wake 
her up, ’cause I’ve got something I want to tell 
you. 

“ Kate’s been a naughty girl to me all day, 
Aunt Nabby, and she made me cry, because I 
love her, and I want to be her real little sister. 
I thought and thought about it, and I decided I 
would write a letter to God, and tell Him all 
about it. I have put it out my bedroom win- 
dow, and please won’t you let me sleep in the 
spare bed, ’cause I’m so afraid I’ll hear His ange! 
when he reaches down after it, if I sleep in m) 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


41 



j flushed 


Aunt Nabby, if 

it is gone in the 
morning, I shall 
know there is really 
and truly a God ! ” 

Beth’s cheeks were 
and her eyes 
sparkled with an unusual 
excitement, but when Aunt 
Nabby tucked her safely in 

the spare bed and patted her 

soothingly, it was not long before 
she had found the road to dreamland, over 
which she travelled with a bright smile 
dimpling her rosy cheeks as she slept. 
It was then that Aunt Nabby tiptoed softly 
to the open window in Kate’s room, and 
reaching out, drew in the tear-stained letter, 
and this is what she read : 



42 AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 

“ My dear God : — I want to tell you how much I 
thank you for takin’ care of me. I wit you would bess 
Katie and make her a good girl, and make me good 
too. From 

“ Beth.” 

Tears filled Aunt Nabby’s eyes as she re- 
placed the letter in the envelope and laid it 
carefully outside the window again : 

“ The child shall have her test,” she said ; 
“ I’ll leave it with God ter take it er not, jest as 
He’s a mind ter.” 

The next morning the dawn was just waking 
the robins in the old elm over the house, when 
a little white-robed figure crept softly across the 
room and peered, half-frightened, through the 
window at the spot where the letter had been 
placed. It was gone ! 

Beth drew a quivering sigh of relief that 
told how keenly she had feared the letter would 
not be taken. She folded her little hands and 
glanced up to heaven with a quiet awe over- 
spreading her face. 

Had God then reached down and taken it 
away, or had He sent His angel after it, — or 
had the swallow in her morning flight taken it 
up to heaven ? All these questions filled Beth’s 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


43 


heart with wonder, but where could she find an 
answer ? And then she crept quietly into Aunt 
Nabby’s bed, and folding her hands upon her 
breast, fell asleep with a happy smile on her 
face. 

It was late when she awoke to find Kate 
standing by the bed, neatly dressed in one of 
her own little white aprons of long ago. Kate’s 
curls were untangled, and had been brushed 
into little corkscrews that resembled Aunt 
Nabby’s, and her face shone with the happiness 
of a good and wholesome breakfast. Aunt 
Nabby had been trying to make her understand 
how sad she had made Beth feel, by being cross 
to her, and then she told her of the letter, 
which had been taken away. 

“ Well, if God really took the letter,” she 
replied, “then Kate must be a good girl, and 
never be naughty to Beth no more,” and Beth’s 
arms stole lovingly about her neck, and their 
troubles were at an end. But where the letter 
went remained a mystery they could neither 
solve nor forget. 


CHAPTER IV. 

After Kate and Beth had forgotten their 
quarrels and become reconciled to each other, 
all the earth seemed glad, as they hop-skipped 
hold of hands, down to the playhouse in the 
willow bushes. The tall tasselled corn mur- 
mured in the morning breeze, like the sound of 
distant voices, and the field daisies turned their 
bright faces as if to say good morning, as the 
children passed. An oriole, flashing his golden 
wings over their heads, sent forth such a lay of 
song, that Kate paused to admire him, and then 
she said, wistfully, “ I wish Joe was here, Beth, 
he does love the song of the lark so ! ” Swal- 
lows dipped and skimmed through the clear 
skies and then steered their black heads straight 
toward the wide open door of Aunt Nabby’s 
barn. Beth's face was radiantly happy as she 
watched them, for she felt at peace with all the 
world, and something of her happiness entered 
44 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 45 

into Kate’s heart, for she paused again presently, 
and pulling Beth down to her, wound her arms 
affectionately around her neck and whispered 
in her ear, “ Kate is glad to be here — only she 
wants Joe.” 

As the children entered the bushes a soft 
satisfied “ ca-ca-ca-ca-ca ” greeted their ears, as 
though the “ Creamer hen ” were saying, “ Good 
morning, girls, I got here first ! ” for there she 
sat with her little round eyes looking contentedly 
up at them, from the depths of Beth’s fern-car- 
peted room. She pecked lazily at the rasp- 
berries which the children held out to her, and 
then resumed her winking and blinking as if 
half asleep. Beth stood happily breathing in 
the sweet odour of the dried ferns, when a little 
“mew, mew,” from behind, told the girls that 
Kate’s white kitten had also found her way to 
the playhouse, quite as soon as they. Both 
children burst into laughter, but that animated 
little mouse-trap, kitty, now known as “Trap,” 
whisked away in search of a faint “ cheep ” 
which her small ears had detected somewhere 
about the bushes. 

“It’s a baby squirrel, Trap, you naughty cat, 
and don’t you dare to touch her,” Beth called 


4 6 AUNT NABBY ? S CHILDREN. 

out, and Trap cuddled away in Kate’s neck, 
where she held her fast. 

“ Let’s get out the table, Beth, and all the 
dishes, and make some pies and have dinner all 
ready ’fore Joe gits here.” Joe had not told 
her he would come to-day, but her own heart 
said so, and faithful little housewife that she 
was, she must have his dinner ready and wait- 
ing. She brought out some bits of broken 
china from a shelf nailed into the box that had 
been converted into a closet, and dusting them 
carefully, proceeded to set the table. 

“Biddy Creamer, you can’t have these ber- 
ries, ’cause they’re for pies for Joe;” and she 
spread a delicate leaf with the juicy berries, and 
held it out to Beth. “ Ain’t these berries 
pretty, Beth ? ” she said, joyously. “ Who made 
them grow, do you know ? ” 

“God made them grow, all for you and me.” 

“ No, no, Beth, how could He push them up 
out of the ground, when He’s up over our 
heads ? ” 

“ He’s everywhere, Kate ; up over our heads, 
in the ground, and perhaps he’s right here in 
our playhouse, mebby right up on top of yer 
cupboard over there, cause He’s into every- 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 47 

thing.” Kate’s eyes opened wide at the unex- 
pected explanation, and then she said, roguishly : 

“ Oh, Beth ! Is God into everything ? Well, 
then, he must be a terror ! ” 

“You mustn’t say that, Kate,” a voice an- 
swered from behind the girls, and the bushes 
parted to let Joe through with rapid strides, to 
meet his little sister’s outstretched arms. There 
was again a faint “ cheep ” from overhead, and 
Trap flew past her mistress, bent on a hunting 
expedition. Joe smiled and looked wise. “ Let 
her go, Kate ; it is a baby squirrel, but Trap is 
too small to catch him,” and then the children 
sat down to their play dinner. 

How fast the happy morning passed, just as, 
in days and years to come, the hours had a way 
of flying, when spent in that retreat by the 
river side. How many castles were built here, 
how many confidences exchanged, only those 
three children know, whose lives were blessed 
by Aunt Nabby’s generous love. 

Joe had never been like other boys since he 
came to Putnam Mills, and it was probable that 
just before that time some serious illness had 
deprived him of all memory concerning the past. 
There were many hours spent in the willow 


48 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


playhouse trying to recall something of his foi * 
mer life, but all in vain ; everything was vague, 
so vague that the only real impression left him 
was that of somewhere, at some time, having 
heard strains of beautiful music, played by one 
whom he loved. It was probably for this reason 
that his mind became active, and seemed almost 
to reach out and grasp the past when he lis- 
tened to musical sounds now. Often he would 
draw Beth close beside him, and, taking Kate 
upon his knee, would pour into their eager ears 
all the strange thoughts and hopes of his life. 
He was so simple and childlike, and yet so 
manly, it was little wonder that the children 
frolicked with him and trusted him, while they 
looked up to him as their natural protector and 
comrade. Joe was a superior scholar in the 
day-school, yet so simple-minded was he, that 
a child many years younger could deceive him 
and lead him away by the most impossible 
story. 

He sat a long time silent this morning, listen- 
ing to the song of the birds, and the brook, 
which seemed to hold such strange power over 
him, and then calling the children to him, he 
poured out his heart in the usual strain : 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


49 


“ When I am a man, Kate, and have found 
our other home, and you are grown large and 
grand looking, like Aunt Nabby, only younger 
you know, with all the roses in your cheeks, we 
will go to school away, from here, to college, 
perhaps ; and mebby I’ll have money to take 
Beth with us, who knows, if I find our other 
home? I shall know it by the sound, Kate, 
know it by the soft, sweet voices I used to hear, 
like those of some instruments, such as we never 
have here. Sometimes I feel as though if I had 
the schoolmaster’s fiddle, I could make a sound 
just like it. When I get big, and have money, 
I shall have a fiddle, see if I don’t,” and then he 
fell to watching the brook, and devouring its 
song with hungry ears ; and the desires of his 
heart — to find his home, to go to school, and 
to play the violin — were lost in the delight 
of the hour. 

Kate and Beth watched him quietly at first, 
because they loved and respected his moods, 
but they watched him breathlessly in a few 
moments, because a tame and beautiful gray 
squirrel, which seemed to have come in answer 
to his soft, unconscious whistle, was standing 
on her hind legs close beside him, and peering 


50 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN, 


up into his face. Beth made frantic motions to 
attract his attention, which finally succeeded, 
and Joe reached out his hand, and lifting the 
squirrel gently, buttoned her inside his coat, 
leaving out only her gray bushy tail, that trailed 
down over him, to tell of her presence. The 
children laughed and clapped their hands for 
joy, but Joe was still looking about him, in the 
trees over his head, and under the stone wall. 
“ It was not this one that cheeped when I first 
came in,” he said. “She must have a baby 
somewhere,” and it was not long before he found 
two baby squirrels snugly hidden away under the 
stump of an old beech-tree. 

While the children were so happy in their 
willow house, Aunt Nabby was having some 
stirring experiences in her shady little garden 
at home. She watched Kate and Beth dance 
across the field, with a happy smile on her face, 
and then she gave way to a train of thoughts 
which the sight of them had called up. 

“ That letter to God was a very good thing 
fer Beth ter do,” she said, aloud. “’Twould 
have be’n hard ter manage the girls if they had 
kep’ on a-quarrelin’, an’ I never’ d ’a’ sent her 
back ter the farm, never in the world, fer that 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 5 I 

old spider ter git holt of ! I don’t wonder he 
wants her, she’s ser pretty ; he was always 
passin’ fond of a pretty face,” and she tossed 
her curls defiantly over her shoulder. 

It could not be denied that Aunt Nabby was 
a little harsh with the Squire, for others in the 
village had not found him lacking a heart alto- 
gether, and many a sunny childish head laid on 
his shoulder with perfect confidence. True it 
was he was shrewd in trade, and that he owned 
half the town, and kept no help for the spinster 
sister who presided over his house for him. But 
there was some mystery connected with Aunt 
Nabby’s strong hatred of him, something that 
even the neighbours could not understand. 
There was a rumour, and rumours are often 
true, that in Aunt Nabby’s palmy days, when 
the Squire came wooing on the hill, a mis- 
understanding had arisen between them, on ac- 
count of a younger brother of his, who was well 
known as the “ musical scapegoat ” of the town. 
Whatever the wrong deed had been, it resulted 
in the young Squire having made his last exit 
from the Quest house, just ahead of the toe of 
old Squire Quest’s cowhide boot. The gossips 
of the village extended their sympathy to Squire 


52 AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 

Sslib, and assured each other, in tragic whispers, 
that he never returned to make any explanation 
to Nabby, because he would have been obliged 
to confess his brother in the wrong. However 
this may have been, Aunt Nabby had since per- 
sisted in turning a stubborn broad back toward 
him whenever she had seen him approaching. 
In her opinion he had ignored her, and he 
should see that she could return the same indif- 
ference to him. There were times when her 
face softened as she watched his gig retreating 
down the hill. She realised that the Squire 
was growing old alone, and she pitied him be- 
cause his wild young brother whom he loved had 
left his home years ago, and gone out into the 
world no one knew where ; but she did not in- 
dulge this mood for long, and the old defiant 
look, so unlike her usual sweet self, would creep 
back into her face, till it gradually melted into 
her own bright sunny smile. 

She was working among her tiger-lilies this 
morning in a happy frame of mind, when Joe 
ran up the hill and inquired breathlessly for 
Kate. He only paused to say “ Good morn- 
ing, ” and then ran off again in search of the 
children. 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 53 

“ Bless his little heart, how happy he looks 
after sleepin’ in that wretched old poorhoiise 
all night. Beats all how folks can be happy 
anywheres if they only think so ! A boy’s a 
good thing ter have round the house,” and she 
brushed a smouch of brown pollen from her 
nose. “ These lilies is dirty things ter work 
amongst. I’ll take the hollyhocks next,” and 
she turned to a long row of those brilliant 
flowers which extended the whole length of her 
garden. Aunt Nabby’s house and garden were 
a veritable bower of bloom from early spring till 
the late fall. Here grew the soft cream-white 
honeysuckle, intertwined with the glowing trum- 
pet-vine, both of which seemed to run riot over 
the little house, from the low stone underpin- 
ning to the ridge-pole on its roof. The path 
leading from her door was so nearly obscure 
with flowers, that it. was but a continuation of 
the blossoms of larkspur, yellow marigold, phlox 
of all colours, petunia, portulaca and lobelia, 
till they reached the old garden where they 
spread themselves out in a bewildering confu- 
sion of glory, that covered every nook and cor- 
ner of the shady retreat, even taking possession 
here of the sandy little paths, and allowing Aunt 


54 AUNT nabby’s children. 

Nabby scarcely room enough to wander be- 
tween the tangled beds. 

Near that corner of the garden next the road, 
two stately locust-trees stood sentinel over a 
small and delicate lilac hedge, but newly 
planted, which Aunt Nabby hoped would some 
day screen her whole garden from the road. 
Between the garden and front yard a lattice 
had been built, and over this, hiding Aunt 
Nabby entirely from the walk leading up to her 
door, a luxuriant hop vine climbed and revelled 
in the morning sun. This vine was the delight 
of Aunt Nabby’s heart, as was also the little 
patch of herbs growing under its shade all along 
the ground. She was just admiring their thrift, 
when she heard a step upon the gravel walk, 
and peered through the hops to see who was 
coming. Her apron, which she held full of 
withered buds and dried leaves, fell down, let- 
ting its contents all out at her feet. She pulled 
with a quick gesture a curl over her forehead, 
then brushed it back again as if in anger. 
Squire Sslib was approaching her door with a 
folded sheet of paper in his hand. He paused 
just inside the gate, and opened the sheet, al- 
lowing his eye to rest with a keen interest upon 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


55 


it, and then folding 
it again, advanced 
and rapped lightly on 
the kitchen door. 

Aunt Nabby pulled 
her sunbonnet over 
her face and fell to 
picking hops with 
trembling haste. 

“ What on earth 
does he want now, 
I’d like ter know; 
nothin’, of course, but 
that precious child ! 
Yer’d better keep 
away, yer old spider, 
fer yer too late ; the 
town’s give me a fust 
lien on her. Rap 
away, mister, no won- 
der yer look solemn- 
choly, and kind er 
mournful like, round 
the mouth, ’cause 
„ the’s nobudy ter play 
in your yard, an’ no- 




5 6 AUNT nabby’s children. 

budy ter set around your table. Well, yer may 
look mournful, but yer can’t have her! The 
waves er Zion mourns, and few comes ter their 
solemn feast, and the’ll be fewer ter come ter 
your feast, Square, an’ nobudy ter blame but 
yourself.” She continued to fill her apron with 
the hops, pausing between times to glance curi- 
ously at the Squire, resuming her speech with 
the picking. 

“ It’ll take somethin’ more’n Pendleton’s Pan- 
acea ter heal up all the sorrers yer’ll feel some 
day — mebby yer’ll need some of these hops 
ter quiet yer down fore yer die, an’ mebby a 
hop piller ter lay yer head on, ter put yer ter 
sleep.” 

She looked a little softened now toward the 
Squire, and took a step forward — faltered, and 
stopped short, for he was making his way back 
to the gate, reading once again the open page 
which he held in his hand. He stepped slowly, 
glanced around the yard thoughtfully, and then 
passed out the gate and down the hill, with the 
sheet of white paper still gleaming back at 
Aunt Nabby from his hand, holding her spell- 
bound, and holding, too, the fate of several 
human lives in its mysterious folds. 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 57 

Aunt Nabby dropped on to the settee, and sat 
there some time quite as limp and wilted as the 
dying hops scattered at her feet. It was an hour 
before she even spoke, and then she heard the 
children’s feet on the walk, coming for the 
dinner that remained uncooked in the pantry. 

“ What upon earth could he have wanted ? ” 
she said, and then she went into the house and 
prepared the dinner, with her face as calm as if 
nothing had happened. 

Beth was running ahead of the others and 
was half-way up the walk when she called : 
“ Come here quick, Aunt Nabby, and see what 
Joe’s got,” and then all three burst in upon the 
quiet of the little house, making Aunt Nabby 
forget everything but them. 

Joe still carried the mother squirrel in his 
blouse, but her two babies had been captured 
also, and he held them in close confinement 
beside her. 

“ Please, Aunt Nabby, may I keep them 
here ? They will kill them at the farm,” and 
Joe’s dark eyes pleaded more eagerly than his 
words. He proceeded to shut the kitchen 
doors, and all the windows, and then he placed 
the mother and her two babies upon the floor. 


58 AUNT nabby’s children. 

Aunt Nabby had always been passionately 
fond of animals, and she looked with delight 
upon these beautiful creatures. They were so 
tame that they perched with perfect faith on 
Joe’s shoulder, and hardly seemed to be afraid 
of Aunt Nabby. She did not realise then, that 
all animals had faith in Joe, and she gave her 
consent after a few minutes for him to keep 
them in the shed, if he would take care of them 
himself. And so a soft bed was made for the 
babies, which Joe named Dick and Moses, and 
the three squirrels were quite at home with 
Trap, the Creamer hen, and the old duck and 
drake that had long since claimed the shed for 
their try sting-place, and where they all met 
and talked on an equality. 

To say that Joe was delighted with this small 
menagerie, would but mildly express his feel- 
ir>gs, and he spent so many hours among his 
favourites that they seemed a part of himself, 
and surely were a large part of his life. 

It was often quite dark when Joe left the house 
for the farm at night, and Aunt Nabby would 
watch him out of sight through the window, 
making little blinders of her hands against the 
glass. On one particular evening, when she 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 59 

could no longer see him, she sat down by the 
fire again, and looked into it without her knit- 
ting-work, till late at night. She was surely 
considering some great question, and when she 
covered the fire and went to bed she looked as 
if the matter were well settled in her mind. 

It was just sunrise the next morning, when 
she closed the front door softly and hurried 
down the hill and on through the Mills with 
rapid steps, straight to the poor-farm. 

When she returned, Joe was with her, and 
each of them carried a newspaper bundle, and 
Joe hugged close a small, strange-looking box 
under his left arm. Aunt Nabby looked ques- 
tioningly at it several times on the way home, 
but she closed her mouth whenever she began 
to speak, as if she realised it was nothing to 
her what he carried in that dark, richly carved 
box, and he should keep his secret, if he chose 
to. When they reached the house, however, 
Joe held out the box to Aunt Nabby with a 
trembling hand, saying as he did so : “ Will you 
please take this and take care of it. It was 
given to me by Kate’s nurse, the day she went 
away, and all I can remember is that I prom- 
ised her I would never open it till I was fifteen 


6o 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


years old. I don’t know just how old I am, 
Aunt Nabby, but I’ve been thinking I shall be 
able to open it in a few years now. She said I 
must never let anybody see it, and I would be 
sorry if I did not keep my promise to her, so I 
have done just as she told me to, and have kept 
it hidden ever since I lived at the farm. I 
shall feel safe about it now, here with you,” 
and he laid his head on the table and brushed 
away a tear. 

‘‘You are so kind,” he continued, “so kind 
to Kate — and to me — now that I am to live 
with you. I shall grow up a strong man, and 
take care of you when you are old.” 


CHAPTER V. 


That night, after the little house was quiet, 
Aunt Nabby sat thinking longer than she had 
ever before been known to do. She must have 
had her very best thinking-cap on, for the 
matter seemed a serious one with which she 
had to contend, yet she had never been so long 
in all her life in trying to decide right from 
wrong. The little Dutch clock hanging over 
the kitchen shelf struck eleven, and she looked 
up quite startled and just as much puzzled as 
she had done all the evening. At length she 
arose and walked to the window, saying as she 
went, “ It’s dreatful hard tryin’ ter decide things 
alone, without never havin’ nobudy ter help 
yer.” She leaned forward to look out the 
kitchen window toward the Mills, but she paused 
as if a new thought had suddenly come to her. 
“ I’ll tell yer what I’ll do ! ” she whispered, “ I’ll 
jest look out that winder, and if I see a single 
light a-shinin’ in the village I’ll open that box 
61 


62 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


an’ see what’s in it. If the’ hain’t no light I 
won’t open it ! The nurse said Joe mustn’t 
open it, but she couldn’t judge what was right 
fer everybudy else.” She made the usual little 
blinders with her hands against the pane, and 
gazed some time steadily, before her eyes could 
penetrate the darkness, and then she gave a 
start and fell backwards into a chair. Away 
across the fields, straight over the mill-pond, on 
the high hill opposite, a bright light was shin- 
ing, and reflecting its rays in the water flowing 
smooth and dark above the dam. The light 
was in Squire Sslib’s house ! 

“Seems ter me,” she muttered, “the’s some 
providence in that ; strange, his should ’a’ been 
the only light shinin’ in the town exceptin’ 
mine ! ” She stole quietly across the room and 
peered into both the bedrooms. The children 
were all fast asleep. Then she tiptoed back 
again, and opening the secretary door, she cau- 
tiously brought out the dark little box which 
Joe had given into her keeping only that morn- 
ing. It had a strong looking lock, and there 
was no key accompanying it ; how should she 
ever open it. She examined the keyhole care- 
fully, and then turning to the old secretary 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


63 


door, removed the key from that, and placing it 
in the lock of the box, turned it once without 
difficulty, but the cover still refused to open. 

“ Strange,” she said, “ this key should fit that 
lock, and yet won’t open it,” and she turned it 
once again. To her amazement the lock sprung 
and the cover flew back, revealing nothing but 
a sealed envelope directed to “Master Joe” — 
“Joe what?” She could scarcely believe the 
evidence of her own eyes ! Yes, Joe’s name 
was written out in full, and when Aunt Nabby 
began to realise fully just what that name was, 
the box fell from her lap with a clatter, and the 
envelope lay with the seal unbroken, beside it 
on the floor. She rocked herself wildly to and 
fro, but she made no effort to pick up the box. 
She had no need to do so, for already she felt 
what the letter would contain, and the news it 
would bring to her disappointed heart. 

“ I might ’a’ knowed, I might ’a’ knowed ! ” she 
whispered after a time, and then she tore open 
the seal and read the letter through without a 
change of expression. When she had finished, 
she replaced it in the box upon the high shelf, 
and went to bed with a calm decision written on 
her face. “ Bless that boy,” she whispered to 


6 4 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 



herself again, “ I know now who he is, but 
nobudy else shall know till the right time 
comes. I may be wrongin’ his folks, but 
I’ve been wronged myself ’fore now, 
an’ I’d rather wrong anybudy than 
them blessed children. They are 
happy here with me, and I’ll keep 
’em, an’ he shall never know.” 

These remarks did not seem to 
ease her conscience, however, 
and she tossed all night on 
her pillow. The next day 
she looked so ill that Joe 
became worried, and tried 
to make her lie down 
and let him do the 
housework. 

After this she 
made a des- 
perate effort 
to appear well, 
and tripped 
about till 
the work 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


65 


was done, then she threw herself once more on 
the settee in the old garden, and meditated, look- 
ing into distance. It was the first time in all her 
life that her conscience had been burdened with 
anything akin to deceit, and it was proving too 
much for her. Fortunately, the children did 
not leave her long alone, for Joe dragged her 
off to the wood-shed to watch with him the 
Creamer hen and the white kitten, lying side by 
side in a barrel of oats. Here for many weeks 
Miss Biddy had stolen her nest away, and after 
carefully burying each egg deep in the oats, she 
had walked off “ with cackle enough for two 
eggs,” Beth said. Trap had grown into a staid, 
motherly-looking pussy, and the friendship be- 
tween her and the hen was a source of great 
delight to the children. Beth was especially 
fond of the speckled hen, for as long ago as she 
could remember, Aunt Nabby had bought her of 
a Mr. Creamer ; and when he took the hen from 
the bag, and she flew about the yard clucking, 
and tearing with her beak at the hideous red 
flannel tied to her leg, Beth had befriended 
her, and removed the string for which Miss 
Biddy seemed to return the deepest gratitude 
by showing a great fondness for her deliverer. 


66 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


“ Yer may have her, an’ welcome,” the man 
had said ; “ she’s bound ter set, and I don’t 
want her to ! If yer lookin’ fer a settin’ hen, 
she’s all right.” And true to his promise, she 
stole her nest away each season, and surprised 
her mistress by coming out with a brood of 
fluffy yellow chickens that always looked exactly 
to Beth like so many little downy canaries. And 
now it was quite plain to the children that she 
was striving to gather a nest of eggs to sit 
upon in the oat-barrel. This was Trap’s fa- 
vourite napping-place too, and Biddy each day, 
nothing daunted, laid her snowy egg with Trap 
purring close beside her in the barrel. It 
seemed as if there was a mutual understand- 
ing between them, for Trap was always just 
a little ahead of the hen, in snuggling down 
among the oats, and never left till Biddy 
began to cackle, when she would jump out 
and run away as if she hardly liked quite 
so much ado over such a little thing as an 
egg. 

“We will leave the eggs there,” Aunt Nabby 
had said, “and then we will have some chickens 
when the time comes right.” 

One morning, not many weeks after this, 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


67 


there were unusual sounds issuing from the 
wood-shed, and when the children, standing on 
their tip-toes, peered into the oat-barrel, they 
saw a sight more strange than the sounds which 
had aroused their curiosity, — a sight so strange 
indeed that you will scarcely believe what I am 
going to tell you ! Miss Biddy was fluttering 
about, clucking with ruffled feathers, now stand- 
ing on the edge of the barrel top, now flying 
off to the floor, but always calling her ten tiny 
chicks, that were struggling in vain to obey her 
calls, for the high sides of the barrel and their 
unfledged wings held them prisoners. “We 
must turn the barrel down and let them run out 
on to the floor,” Joe said ; but Beth was ahead 
of him, for she claimed the chickens. “ Let 
me do it,” she urged, and then — she looked 
into the barrel ! There, scrambling among the 
oats, were Biddy’s tiny, fluffy babies, and close 
beside them, watching with deep interest and 
concern, was Trap, cuddling up and purring to 
three little white kittens, so exactly like herself 
that it was quite laughable. Beth’s scream 
soon brought Kate to where she stood, and 
looking with wide-opened eyes of delight, she 
claimed the kitties for her very own. 


68 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


“ How, funny, Beth ! ” she said. " How funny 
that you an’ me should bof have babies in the 
same mornin’ ! Now everybody’s got babies of 
their own ; we belongs to Aunt Nabby, and the 
cat and kitties ter me, and Joe’s got his squir- 
rels, an’, Beth, you’s got the chickens. I guess 
the ducks is Joe’s, too, ’cause they seem ter 
mind him better’n anybody.” 

Kate was growing very old now in appear- 
ance, and her quaint little sayings seemed far 
beyond her years. Every day she grew more 
beautiful, too, as she realised perfect health and 
happiness, and she had an unusual habit of 
coining words that quite took Aunt Nabby’s 
breath away. Some of these words were ex- 
tremely expressive, and particularly so, as you 
shall see, were her two favourites, “ tomtactum ” 
and “ falubritic.” To-day, Joe had gone in 
search of the mother-duck, who had stolen her 
nest away, and he was hoping to find some 
ducklings to cheer the heart of the sad old 
drake, that had moped and had the blues ever 
since his mate disappeared. 

Kate was in the garden with the doll and doll 
carriage, given her by the Squire on the pre- 
vious Christmas day, and dolly, who was “ quite 



“ * NOW everybody’s got babies of their own.’ ” 











AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 7 1 

worn out wif sittin’ in the sun so long,” was 
cuddled in her little mother’s arms. 

“Yer must keep still and rest now, Dolly, 
’cause by an’ by, mamma’s goin’ to teach you 
to talk. Joe, he’s gone after that naughty duck, 
’cause she’s runned off and left her papa, who 
loves her jest awful, and cries about her all day ; 
sometimes I seen big tears, Dolly, a-runnin’ 
down his — his — he ain’t got no cheeks, what 
shall I say, Dolly ? I guess its the nose I 
mean ! 

“ Now, Miss Dolly, you must sit up, an’ be a 
tomtactum maiden, for I want you to talk. The 
morning is very falubritic, and you shouldn’t 
ought ter waste it. I shall tell you some rules 
that you must use when you get older ; now say 
them after me : 

“ First, when somebody knocks at the front 
door, don’t never run and peek to see who’s 
there. 

“When company comes, don’t go in unless 
Aunt Nabby calls you, and then be very tom- 
tactum, and don’t speak less you’re spoken to. 

“ Don’t leave your napkin unfolded. 

“ Never call the Squire nor the minister by 
their first names. 


72 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


“Never say sarcy fings ter old folks. 

“ Git your lessons, and don’t cheat. And 
always say, ‘yes, sir,’ an’ ‘ no, sir,’ to the minister 
and the schoolmarm. 

“You’re a bad girl, Dolly Quest, yer ain’t 
said one single word since I commenced. 
Mebby you’re sick, but yer can’t die, Dolly, 
’cause you’ve never learned ter talk, and yer 
couldn’t tell Peter yer name, and I’m sure, 
Dolly, they never’d learn you ter talk up in 
heaven.” 

And so she jabbered on, always petting and 
caressing the doll, till Joe broke in upon her 
with a delighted face. 

His head was bare, and his big palm-leaf hat, 
with the brims held close together, enclosed 
eight soft little white ducklings, and the mother 
duck, strutting with pride for her babies, and 
with perfect confidence in Joe, followed close at 
his heels. They had hardly arrived in the gar- 
den, when Mister Drake, hearing the calls of his 
wife, came rushing out to meet her with a wel- 
coming “ quack,” and a real expression of glad- 
ness shining in his eyes, and depicted by every 
movement. It was then that Joe placed his 
hat upon the ground and allowed the scrambling 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


73 


brood to tumble over its rim and join their 
parents. And now a strange thing took place, 
for the unnatural father of these snowy little 
birds, instead of being very proud of his off- 
spring, looked at them with his wicked head 
perched on one side, and then made a dive with 
his beak for the nearest baby. Of course the 
mother defended her child, and a quarrel arose 
in the duck family which so wounded the father 
that he was loth to forget it, or to take his little 
ones into his confidence and affection. 

Joe had hoped that this state of things would 
cease, and that the stern father drake would 
learn to love his little ones, as all good parents 
should do, but instead, each day that passed 
seemed only to make the breach between them 
wider. Often the faithful duck would approach 
her mate with soft and gentle quacks of love, 
but his only reply was a ferocious peck that 
sent her away with loud and angry cries. At 
length, when her babies were four weeks old, 
and beginning to look like very respectable 
ducklings, with tail feathers started that filled 
their mother’s heart with pride, she made one 
last venture to win for them their father’s love, 
by leading them bravely out to where he was 


74 AUNT NABB^’S CHILDREN. 

standing on a log, beside a tub of water contain- 
ing Aunt Nabby’s favourite pond-lilies. 

He turned a lordly head from viewing his 
own reflection in the smooth water of the tub, 
and took one vicious glance at his family as they 
approached. “ Quack ! quack ! ” said the mother 
duck, and “ quack ” said all the little ones, as if 
they were saying “ How do you do,” to the old 
bird; and one brave little fellow, the very flower 
of the brood, used his tiny wings for the first 
time, and landed on the log, close beside his 
father. There was an approving voice from the 
mother that seemed to say, “Well done, my 
baby,” and at the same time to arouse all the 
evil in the drake’s nature. He turned and 
looked at her, but he saw only love and pride 
for her offspring, that drove him mad with 
jealousy. Had he been a man, and could have 
spoken, I am sure he would have said, “You 
false creature, you no longer have any love left 
for me, but only for these squawking children, 
and I will teach you who is master here ! ” and 
then suiting the action to the word, he snatched 
the brave little duck beside him in his beak, and 
pinched his neck till he could not breathe, and 
dropped him into the tub of water. 


AUNT NABBY'S CHILDREN. 


7 5 


The mother squawked and flew about the 
yard, but all in vain. No one came to the 
rescue, and the duckling died. After this, 
she led her brood away with a solemn air, 
and hid them in the willow bushes. She 
brought them to the house at each feeding 
time, but took greatest care to keep them away 
from their father. Indeed, she did not need to 
do this, had she but known that he was well out 
of their reach, for Joe, who had come upon him 
shortly after the murder of his baby, found 
him gazing into the tub with a smile, and such 
an expression of delight on his face, that he sur- 
mised his guilt, and gave him the murderer’s 
punishment, — that of solitary confinement. 
He was shut into a barrel in the barn-chamber. 

For more than a week the mother duck 
scarcely tasted food, and at length, overcome 
with grief at the desertion of her mate, and the 
loss of her dearest baby, she quietly went to 
sleep in the old willow bushes, and lay with the 
wind in the willows and the song of the brook 
chanting a dirge to the babies all night long, as 
they nestled under her cold wings. 

Joe found her the next day, and buried her 
beside Aunt Nabby’s dog. All the time he 


y6 AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 

dug the grave he kept up a low musical whistle, 
that spoke the anguish of his heart. All animals 
were dear to him, and especially so were these 
his pets. He stopped occasionally to play with 
Moses, the pretty gray squirrel that was stand- 
ing on his shoulder, and to tell his troubles to 
him ; and the squirrel, wholly without fear of his 
little master, looked wise, and listened as if he 
understood and sympathised. 

For several days after the old duck died, the 
drake, having been relieved from confinement, 
sought her with a sad and pitiful air. During 
this time Joe kept the little ones well hidden 
from their father, fearing he would repeat his 
cruelty, if allowed to be near them ; but at 
length, when his sorrow became so evidently 
sincere, Joe ventured to tell him just what he 
could do to redeem himself, and then took him 
under his arm down to the willow bushes, pre- 
senting him with due ceremony to the little 
ones as follows : “ Now, Mr. Drake, here are 
your motherless babies, and you may see them 
and be with them, if you will be kind to them, 
and never again pinch one of their necks. Do 
you hear ? ” It really seemed as if he did, for 
no sooner had he jumped down from Joe’s arms, 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 77 

than he began a cheery motherly cluck, that set 
the little ones running toward him, all in a flutter 
of delight. There was no evidence of their sus- 
pecting him of being any other than the faithful 
mother that had kept their little bodies from 
the chill night air, since first they softly peeped 
outside the shell. Mr. Drake looked about him 
as if searching for some one, but when he 
failed to see his mate, a strange thing took 
place. He continued his clucking till all the 
ducklings were close beside him, and then down 
he sat in the warm earth, and stretching out 
his wings in a tender, gentle way, gathered his 
dear ones under them and closed his eyes as 
though at last he had found rest. Nor did this 
end his loving ministry, for day and night, till 
his children had grown out of ducklinghood, into 
wise-looking boy and girl ducks, did he guard 
and tend them with fondest care, always as 
gentle as any mother could possibly have lav- 
ished upon them. Through all their playful 
pranks of running away in the rain, or declin- 
ing to come when he called them, he still bore 
a patient, happy manner, so different from his 
former self that Aunt Nabby and Joe were 
deeply impressed. 


78 AUNT nabby’s children. 

“ I don’t know,” she said, after watching him 
give up his breakfast to the little ones ; “ I 
don’t know, but he seems ter me exactly like a 
person that had been very naughty in bis younger 
days, and even though he knew he was a-doin’ 
wrong, he wouldn’t stop, but jest kep’ a-goin’ 
till he most got ter the end of his rope, that 
brought him up ser short and pulled ser tight, 
he jest had ter stop an’ think. Perhaps in the 
meantime he buried his mother, or lost his 
sweetheart, an’ the grief of it brought him ter 
his senses, and then he saw the’ was still some 
good left in the world fer him ter do, and he 
set to, and took care of some motherless little 
brood.” 

She glanced, half frightened at her own rea- 
soning, across the field to the Squire’s house, 
and then she gathered up her ball of yarn, and 
pulling a longer thread, fell to knitting and 
rocking vehemently. “ I dunno,” she mumbled, 
“ p’raps I be a-wrongin’ him ; mebby if he had 
a hungry little brood ter work fer, and tend, 
he’d go ter thinkin’ too, and realise all the 
wrongs he’s done ter others. But there, it’s 
past and gone, let it go ! I mustn’t let that 
pennyroyal tea get ter boilin’, it’ll spoil it,” and 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


79 


she called in her clear, rich voice to Beth : 
“ Push back that dipper of herbs on the stove, 
and then go into Joe’s room and bring out his 
best blue pants, the’s a little place I want ter 
darn right under the knee.” 

Beth answered cheerily from the house, but 
she came running out to Aunt Nabby presently, 
with a stream of blood trickling down her 
cheek. 

“ I tried to take the pants from the closet, 
Aunt Nabby, and Moses was in his bed on the 
closet shelf, and he wouldn’t let me have them, 
and just because I tried to get them in spite of 
him, he jumped right at me and bit me. Do 
you see ? That Moses is getting to love Joe so, 
he doesn’t allow one of us to touch a thing that 
belongs to him.” 

Aunt Nabby bathed the wound in cold water, 
and wetting a piece of brown paper, stuck it over 
the swollen part and then when she saw that 
Beth was not badly hurt, she began to laugh in 
her clear, rippling voice, that soon brought Joe 
from the barn to see what was the matter. Joe 
was always happy when Aunt Nabby laughed. 

She was quite as fond of Moses as he was, 
and indeed Moses had become so intelligent 


8o 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


that he seemed to them almost human. Next 
to Joe he loved Aunt Nabby, and she returned 
his love warmly, and for hours at a time he sat 
upon her shoulder, playing with the little curls 
that persisted in falling over her neck, tossing 
and biting them much as a playful kitten would. 
This was always in Joe’s absence, for whenever 
he was present, Moses paid his entire devotion 
to him. Aunt Nabby was all right in her place, 
but that was clearly out of Joe’s room ! 

“ He’s the knowin’est cretur,” she often said 
to callers, “ I ever see ! Seems as if he knows 
more’n some people, ernough sight. If I go in 
ter make Joe’s bed, I can do anything I choose 
ter ; I can put on clean sheets, and tidy up, but 
jest let me touch anything of Joe’s, and that 
squirrel resents it, and jumps right at me. He 
loves radishes and peanuts, and you jest ought 
ter see him eat them. Dick is jest a common 
squirrel, cunnin’ ernough, but he can’t hold a 
candle ter Moses.” And so she would run on, 
till Moses became a personality of great impor- 
tance in the neighbourhood. 

After Joe captured the old squirrel and her 
two babies, the mother remained in confinement 
till her children were quite grown up ; and when 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


8i 


she saw how readily they learned, and took to 
the ways of the house, it seemed to grieve her 
greatly, and she drooped and pined, till Joe set 
her free one bright autumn day, and watched 
her scamper over the fields to the great oak- 
tree, where she fell to work with joy, hiding the 
nuts under ground, and hoarding them in hollow 
stumps, for the silvery, soft little ones that she 
hoped would come to share her home another 
spring. Dick and Moses, who had remained 
with Joe in perfect content, seemed scarcely to 
miss their mother, but grew more cunning each 
day. It was strange that Aunt Nabby, so full 
of love for her children, could have found room 
in her heart for a gray squirrel, but there seemed 
to be no limit to her affections, for they reached 
out after every object which came in their way. 
Many were the interesting stories she told the 
children in Sunday school about Dick and 
Moses, and many were the jokes she played 
upon strangers stopping at her door, for she 
spoke of the squirrels as though they were 
human beings, calling and introducing them to 
travellers as such. 

Ever since the night Aunt Nabby had opened 
the box which Joe had given into her keeping, 


8 2 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


she had been a changed woman. She looked 
thinner and taller now than of yore, and she 
started nervously at every sound. Evidently 
there was something preying upon her mind. 

She was alone this bright J une morning, sit- 
ting in the dooryard just in front of the lilac 
hedge that was radiant in its blossoms of lilac 
and white. Bees droned from cluster to cluster 
of the fragrant blossoms, and an oriole warbled 
cheerfully as the sun glinted on his shining 
wings over her head, while he darted into the 
nest he was hanging from a limb of the old elm 
above the footpath leading up to her door. 
Aunt Nabby seemed to be thinking very deeply 
this morning, and she jumped when a footfall 
Sounded on the walk. She peered over her 
glasses, and then got up so quickly that she 
upset her chair with the knitting-work in it, 
and left Trap running after the rolling ball of 
yarn. 

A man was coming up the yard with a heavy 
satchel in his hand, and Aunt Nabby extended 
her hand somewhat coldly to him. 

“ Lor sakes, Elder Parsons, it’s you, is it ? 
Why, if I’d a-knowed you was cornin’ ter call on 
me, I’d a-turned my apron clean side out. I’m 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 83 

afraid it’s pretty dirty now. Be you a-travellin’, 
Elder, or what do yer carry in yer bag ? ” 

He moved a little uncomfortably, and re- 
plied : “ I’m travelling with some essences and 
perfumes, Miss Quest, trying to raise the mort- 
gage on the church at the head of the pond. 
You know my expenses are large, too; we have 
fourteen children, and if you can buy a bottle 
of me it will help along considerably, and the 
Lord will bless you.” He assumed a fervent 
tone, and Aunt Nabby tossed her curls skeptic- 
ally. She had never liked Elder Parsons, but 
she readily bought a bottle of Florida water, 
which was her chief delight and her one ex- 
travagance. 

“The Lord bless you,” the Elder groaned. 
“ I thank you, Miss Quest, shall we have prayers 
before I go ? ” 

A mischievous twinkle came into Aunt 
Nabby’ s eyes. 

“ No, I thank yer, Elder, I don’t think I need 
yer prayers, but mebby Moses would like ter 
have yer pray with him, ’cause he hain’t been 
out ter church fer two years.” 

The Elder looked hopeful, and Aunt Nabby 
led the way to Joe’s room, and opening the door 


84 aunt nabby’s children. 

solemnly, called : “ Moses, come here. Elder 
Parsons wants ter pray with yer.” 

There was a little rustling noise in the closet, 
and Moses appeared, and standing on his hind 
legs, deliberately shelled a peanut and passed it 
out to the Elder. 

“ Moses, this is Elder Parsons, and it’s time 
fer yer ter say yer prayer ; the Elder needs ter 
be prayed with,” and Moses, as if he really 
understood Aunt Nabby’s words, hung his 
strange little hands demurely down, and con- 
tinuing to stand on his hind legs, closed his eyes 
in a pious manner that sent the Elder out of 
the house with rapid strides which soon brought 
him to the road. He did not wish to lose his 
dignity enough to laugh, and surely Aunt 
Nabby had entirely forgotten, or else she did 
not possess any reverence for him, to invite him 
in to pray with a common gray squirrel ! He 
grew more and more angry with every step 
down the hill, while Aunt Nabby sat coolly under 
the tree cuddling Moses in her neck. Joe had 
long ago taught Moses the trick of standing on 
his hind legs and closing his eyes, but it was 
purely accidental that he had done so when 
Aunt Nabby spoke to him now, though she 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


85 


firmly believed that he understood every word 
she had said. Moses was more precious to her 
than ever, and Aunt Nabby’s laugh rippled out 
over the hill and met the children on their 
homeward way. 


CHAPTER VI. 


For some time past, and wholly unbeknown 
to Aunt Nabby, Joe had been a constant visitor 
at Squire Sslib’s house. There seemed to be a 
mysterious charm that drew him there, and held 
him, even though he realised Aunt Nabby’s 
hatred of the Squire, with which, it is needless 
to say, he had no sympathy. 

Over in one corner of the Sslib kitchen, from 
behind an old secretary, there was the end of a 
black box protruding that very much resembled 
a fiddle-box. Joe had seen this for a long time, 
and often he would sit gazing at it with a look 
of longing in his eyes that went straight to 
Samanthy Sslib’s heart. Joe’s eyes had always 
set her to trembling, though she could not have 
told you why, except that they seemed to stir 
some old chord that thrilled with a half-forgot- 
ten sorrow. Why was it ? She asked herself 
the question each day after Joe had gone from 
the house, but it still remained unanswered. 

86 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


87 


At length one morning when he sat looking 
at the violin-box, Samanthy had an inspiration. 
It suddenly occurred to her that Joe would 
like to see what was in the box. “ Lor sakes 
alive,” she said, “how stupid I be! Prob’ly 
he’s been longin’ fer that all this time.” And 
she brought out the box and, opening it, placed 
the violin in his hands. He drew the bow 
across the strings and it gave out a groan that 
made Samanthy shiver and cover her face with 
her hands. 

“Yer mustn’t play it ’less yer can play it 
well,” she said to him. And then she moved 
near him and whispered with a white face : 

“ It hain’t been out er that box fer sixteen 
years, Joe, never since my poor dear brother 
went away. He played it, Joe, played it so ter 
make yer tremble and quiver all over. Yer 
could hear the wind a-blowin’ in the trees, and 
a-sighin’ till yer sighed with it ; and then the 
rain seemed ter be patterin’ down in a little April 
shower, till all of a sudden the sun seemed ter 
come out, and then the birds took ter singin’, 
and everything seemed ter smile, and we smiled 
with him, and his eyes would look as no eyes on 
earth but his ever looked ter me, — as though 


88 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


they saw things we never saw, and his ears 
heard sounds we couldn’t hear. But he went 
away, Joe. The music didn’t do him no good, 
and he was huntin’ all the time and a-longin’ fer 
something he didn’t find, and we never heard 
from him since.” 

Joe scarcely seemed to hear a word she had 
spoken, 'so intent was he upon the instrument in 
his hands. How he had longed for this hour, 
when he could really hold the beloved thing in 
his own grasp, and learn to say on it all the things 
which the woods and fields had been whispering 
to him since he was old enough to listen to them. 
He drew the bow across the strings again, and 
as if some strange instinct led him, they sent 
forth a clear vibrant tone that filled his heart 
with joy, and intoxicated him so he knew noth- 
ing more that was going on around him. He 
tried all the different strings, and played the 
scales falteringly, feeling his fingers along the 
string with keen perception and perfect ear 
till the right tones were reached. 

The sound of the violin pained Samanthy, and 
Joe was quick to feel it. “May I take it away 
to practise on, Samanthy ? ” he said, “ away out 
in the woods ? and when I can play it as your 



»> 


“ EVERY DAY HE BORROWED THE VIOLIN 




AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


91 

brother did, then I will come and play it to 
you.” 

After this, every day he borrowed the violin 
and disappeared among the trees behind the 
house for an hour or more at a time. Aunt 
Nabby had missed him, but when she ques- 
tioned him, he appeared so confused that she 
forbore to do so again. “Bless the boy,” she 
always said, “he’s pure gold. He’s up ter 
somethin’ good, and mebby I’ll know what ’tis 
when the time comes right.” 

Samanthy Sslib, the Squire’s sister, was a 
wee little woman, with pale yellow hair, and 
keen twinkling gray eyes. Her face was long 
and thin, and her teeth, which were large and 
pointed on the edges, protruded so that it was 
with difficulty she closed her mouth at all. It 
was a favourite pastime with the boys at the 
Mills to go to the prayer-meetings on summer 
nights, just to see Samanthy fall asleep and 
catch flies in her wide opened mouth. She 
had never been out of the village, and devoted 
all her days to keeping tidy her brother’s 
home. But she was a faithful friend and a 
kind, loving neighbour, as any in the town 
would testify. 


92 AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 

She had been watching Joe’s delight in the 
old violin for several months, and now the days 
were coming cool and he could no longer play 
out-of-doors. She took the instrument from the 
case and held it close to her heart till the tears 
streamed over her cheeks. “ Somehow, some- 
thin’ tells me he would like ter have Joe have 
it ! ” she said, and then she replaced the fiddle 
lovingly in the box, and put on her sunbonnet 
preparatory to taking a walk. 

Samanthy had not called upon Aunt Nabby 
since they were young girls together, and it was 
an astonishing sight now, to see her walk up to 
Aunt Nabby’ s door, with a feeble, faltering 
step, and rap with a hand that shook so she 
could scarcely control it sufficiently to make 
herself heard. 

The door was opened at length by Kate, and 
to Samanthy’s inquiry, “ Is Miss Quest ter 
home ? ” Kate bowed low, and her great eyes 
searched the caller’s face with the same look in 
them that always made Samanthy tremble, 
when she glanced at Joe. “ Dear me,” she 
said, under her breath, “how strange these 
childern be ; they always flutter me, whenever I 
see them, though I hain’t seen this little one 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 93 

much.” While she was pondering the subject, 
Kate ran to the stairway, and called, in a stage 
whisper, so loud that Samanthy heard quite 
clearly every word she said : 

“ Aunt Nabby, come down ; you have a caller, 
and she looks for all the world jest like a 
monkey.” 

When Aunt Nabby entered the room, her 
caller was sitting with a strained white face, 
trying hard to keep back the tears that had 
moistened her lashes at sound of Kate’s words. 

“ Children and fools, children and fools,” she 
muttered, and Aunt Nabby, quite shocked at 
Kate, and grieved at the sight of another’s suf- 
fering, forgot her professed hatred of the Sslib 
family, and extended a welcoming hand to Sa- 
manthy, which reassured her, but made her for- 
get her errand in the thought that Aunt Nabby 
was not angry with her after all. 

For some time, the two women sat looking 
stupidly at each other, and then the door opened, 
and Joe walked in, followed by Kate. Both 
Aunt Nabby and Samanthy held out their hands 
to the children, but Joe, after a moment of hes- 
itation, walked straight over to Samanthy, and 
laid his head on her shoulder. 


94 AUNT nabby’s children. 

Aunt Nabby could scarcely believe her senses 
at first, and then a nervous twitch of her mouth 
was all that betrayed how deeply she felt the 
slight. She looked at them calmly, it seemed 
to Joe, though no one but herself ever knew the 
struggle it cost her. Presently she smiled, and 
then she said : “Joe, and Kate, you may leave 
the room.” Kate, who had stood quite alone 
all this time in the middle of the floor, turned, 
and taking Joe by the hand, led him away. It 
was then that Aunt Nabby looked at Samanthy, 
and said : 

“ Seems ter me yer most swallered that boy 
with yer eyes, Samanthy Sslib ! Is the’ any- 
thing I can do fer you ? ” 

Samanthy rolled the hem of her apron in a 
little round coil between her fingers as she 
spoke. 

“Those is very attractive childern, Nabby, 
especially the boy.” 

Aunt Nabby gave her curls a violent toss this 
time, and said : “ H’m ! yes, the’ must be some- 
thin’ attractive here, ter some of the villagers, 
it appears ter me, fer the’s one of ’em that never 
passes without craning his neck ter look, till 
I’ve most been tempted ter put out a sign sayin’ 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 95 

there wa’n’t nothin’ here fer sale, ’cause one 
man in town owned everything, curiosity inter 
the bargain ! Yes, these is pretty childern, but 
what can I do fer you, Samanthy ? ” 

“That is jest what I come fer, ter tell yer 
that your boy Joe has had sech a longin’ fer a 
fiddle, that I have been lendin’ him the one over 
ter the house, that belonged ter — my brother 
that went away. I don’t need ter go into de- 
tails, Nabby, yer know the story, but Joe’s been 
practisin’ in the woods all summer, and now it’s 
cornin’ cool, and he can’t do that no longer, and 
I propose ter make him a present of that fiddle, 
if yer have no objections.” 

As Samanthy was speaking, Aunt Nabby left 
her seat, and with her hands pressed to her 
forehead, moved slowly toward the speaker, till 
she stood close beside her, and placed a hand 
on her shoulder. Her face was deathly white, 
and her voice trembled so that it was hard to 
recognise her usual sweet tones. She tried 
twice to speak before a word came, and then 
she said : 

“ Say it ag’in, Samanthy, what did yer say ? 
Tell me ag’in that he’s playin’ on the same 
fiddle his — your brother used ter use. No, no, 


96 AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 

I hain’t done right, and blood is stronger than 
water,” and Aunt Nabby burst out crying, much 
to Samanthy’s surprise. 

When she finally became herself again, she 
looked up and said : “ I’ve always felt, Samanthy, 
that you and the Square was a-tryin’ ter get 
them childern away from me, and yer sort of 
upset me, that’s all. Yer can give him the 
fiddle, or anything else you want ter,” and Sa- 
manthy took her leave with a puzzled face. 

“ Must be Nabby’s growin’ old,” she said to 
the Squire at tea that night, “ cause I offered 
ter give that boy of hers the old fiddle, and she 
broke down and cried. Sort er strange, don’t 
yer think so ? ” but the Squire only took on a 
rosy flush for answer, and ate so fast that he 
had finished and gone before she had time to 
give him his second helping of pumpkin pie. 

When Joe came home from school that day 
he brought the fiddle with him, and laid it in 
Aunt Nabby’s lap, with a perfect happiness 
shining on his face, that remained there till 
long after the lights were out in the little 
kitchen, and he was travelling through dream- 
land with Aunt Nabby’s voice still ringing in 
his ears. “ Read me something,” he had said 












































































AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 99 

to her, just at bedtime; “something sweet and 
sad, that I may hear the music of your voice in 
my dreams, and to-morrow night, after I have 
practised during the day down by the willow 
bushes, I will play to you, that you may dream 
of music too ; ” and a look of pride passed over 
his face. And now he was hearing again the 
words she had read to him from the old blue- 
covered scrap-book. She had read them many 
times before when he was less happy, but they 
never had sunken into his heart to make him 
feel their meaning as they did to-night. 

“ Read it once again,” he said, and she con- 
tinued : 

“ * Say, have you seen my grandpapa? 

He’s old and lame and gray; 

And his feet they totter along the road, 

Where he tries to find his way. 

My clothes are always warm and new; 

His thin and worn have grown. 

They lead me when the path is rough 

But he must walk alone. 

I Wonder, wonder why it is ? 

I’m ’fraid it’s ’cause he’s old. 

. . . . . . • • • 

Say, have you seen my grandpapa ? 

His clothes are black and fine ; 

L.ofC. 


100 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


There’s flowers all round his head, like those 
He used to love of mine. 

He never seems to smell the flowers 
Nor open once his eyes, 

To see how much we love him now 
As pale and still he lies. 

And oh ! I wonder why they kept 
Their kind words, flowers, and love, 

For grandpa, till his sad old heart 
Had gone to God above ? 

And why he wears that smile that says 
I’m now no longer old.’ ” 

Joe had always cried when Aunt Nabby fin- 
ished these lines, but to-night he said, thought- 
fully : 

“ When I am a man, Aunt Nabby, I shall not 
keep my flowers from you till you are dead, and 
I shall never let a chance for doing good escape 
me.’' And so he was smiling in his sleep and 
hearing her words again, all unconscious that 
the morrow held a deeper grief than any he had 
ever known. 

If Joe went to sleep smiling that night, as 
much could not be said of Aunt Nabby, for she 
held a fear locked in her heart that she dreaded 
to tell the children, and she dreaded also to see 
the morning dawn. The truth was, that Moses 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


IOI 


was sick, and she feared fatally so. All the 
afternoon he had been suffering, and several 
times he had come and crawled into her lap, 
and cuddled down with such pleading glances 
that she felt he was saying, “ What can you do 
to make me well ? ” And she had worked every 
spare moment over him, giving him much the 
same medicines that had been given to the little 
yellow dog, but with the same results, and 
all to no avail. Moses continued ill, and lay 
stretched out in a little basket on Aunt Nabby’s 
bed. She thought it seemed providential that 
Joe’s mind was so occupied with the violin that 
he forgot to look for Moses in his usual closet 
bed, and went to sleep with the instrument so 
close to him that he could reach out and touch 
it in the night with his hand. 

When the first faint streak of dawn lighted 
the east, Aunt Nabby rose up in bed and gently 
moved the basket into the light. She spoke to 
Moses in a tone of exquisite love and tenderness, 
but there was no response. He lay cold and 
still, with his eyes closed and an unshelled pea- 
nut close beside him. 

If Moses had been a human member of the 
family, Aunt Nabby’s grief could scarcely have 


102 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


been much deeper than it was ; but with her 
usual unselfishness, her first thought was for the 
children. Kate and Beth loved him dearly, but 
Joe was the one who would be crushed with 
sorrow, and she would try to keep it from him 
as long as possible, hoping that the new violin 
would so take up his mind that he would not 
miss the squirrel at first. 

After breakfast she took the girls into her 
confidence, and told them she had decided that 
Moses should have a proper burial in the old 
family burying-ground, behind the house. Joe 
should be sent to the village on an errand, and 
while he was gone they would “lay out the 
squirrel proper, like folks,” Aunt Nabby said, 
and take him down and bury him. “ Take your 
fiddle along, Joe,” they called after him, “ and 
then you can stop and practise a little while, so 
you can play to us to-night,” and he disappeared 
down the hill and across the pasture with the 
fiddle-box under his arm. 

Aunt Nabby brought a salt-box from the 
shed, and lined it tastefully with a piece of soft 
white crape that she had treasured among old 
finery since her girlhood days. “ Moses shall 
have it,” she said, as she laid the sprays of au- 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. IO3 

tumn woodbine leaves tenderly about his body. 
The flowers were gone, and these were the last 
leaves of the summer. She secured the cover 
to the box, and after wrapping it carefully in a 
soft white wool blanket, the mournful little pro- 
cession threaded their way across the field to 
the graveyard. 

Kate carried the box, for had not Moses be- 
longed to Joe wholly ? and this last ministry of 
love should be entrusted to no less tender hands 
than her own. 

They were three solemn faces that passed 
through the old iron gate as it grated on its 
hinges to let them through, and grated again to 
close behind them. Aunt Nabby carried a small 
spade, and Beth a plain wooden slab, which she 
intended driving into the ground to mark the 
grave. “ Let us bury him under the old beech- 
tree in the south corner, ’twill be warmer fer 
him,” Aunt Nabby said, “and mebby he’ll like 
ter hear the nuts failin’ over his head.” 

They walked slowly across the burying-ground, 
till Kate, still holding all that was left of Moses 
in her faithful little arms, paused with a smoth- 
ered cry, that was hushed in the look of awe 
overspreading her face. She placed the box 


104 AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 

upon the ground and lay down close beside it, 
quite overcome by what she saw. There at the 
foot of the old beech-tree a tiny grave had just 
been opened, and on a simple slab of wood at 
its head were written the words in Joe’s hand- 
writing : 

“ For the angel of God upturned the sod.” 

“ Surely, this is the burial of Moses,” Aunt 
Nabby said, with bated breath. “ Let us lay 
him in the grave.” 

It was Kate who started to lower the little 
box to its last resting-place, and just as it reached 
the bottom, and they were about to return the 
sods to their former greenness and order, a wild, 
weird strain from over their heads caused them 
all to pause and look, upward into the branches 
of the old beech. It was the voice of a violin, 
that spoke to them as plainly as words could 
ever have spoken. When once it had attracted 
them by its loud weeping, the voice gladdened 
their hearts by a soft chirp, which was surely 
no other than that of Moses when first he came 
to them, a wee baby squirrel. All three of the 
listeners smiled involuntarily, and Aunt Nabby 
wiped away her tears. But even as they smiled 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 105 

they heard the call of the old mother-squirrel, 
and knew that she was pining for freedom, and 
then for the little ones so cruelly kept from 
her. 

“We never’d oughter done it,” Aunt Nabby 
said, and then they heard the wind sighing till 
it seemed to shake the old kitchen walls, just as 
it did in dreary winter days ; and now a hurry 
and a scramble that made them see once more 
Moses flying about the kitchen floor after his 
tail. 

“ I’m glad he’s snug and warm,” Aunt Nabby 
said, smiling once again, but almost instantly 
the wind lulled and the rain began to patter 
like a gentle summer shower, and Aunt Nabby 
looked up in the branches of the old tree ex- 
pecting to see the sun shut in. Yes, the sky 
was cold and gray, and the leaves, that should 
be a vivid green, were sere and brown. But 
the rain pattered on, and now she could hear 
the birds twitter above the storm, which pres- 
ently grew fierce, and the winds were soughing 
in the grass and leaves, and all the world was 
mourning with the three tearful listeners beside 
the open grave. There was a hint of vivid 
lightning that shot with a shriek across the sky, 


io6 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


and then a sound of thunder growing faint and 
fainter still, till only the birds and rain-drops 
were left, and even the twittering seemed so 
high in the heavens that it was scarcely audible. 
The rain fell gently, gently, then ceased al- 
together, till the music and the storm went out 
like the light of day on a summer sea, and they 
knew that with it in Joe’s fancy had gone out 
the frail little life that had gladdened their 
home for several years. 

Three quivering breaths were drawn as Joe 
crept slowly down from the old tree and laid 
the fiddle on the ground beside the open grave. 
His head was bare as he stooped to cover the 
little box and replace the sod. “ He was mine, 
Aunt Nabby, and it is my work to do,” was all 
he said, and then the four returned to the house 
in silence. Kate glanced reverently at the 
fiddle-box under his arm, but Aunt Nabby’s 
face was white and troubled, with a grief which 
lay deeper than that of Moses’s death. 

“ I shouldn’t ought er done it,” she said, as 
she closed the gate gently behind the children. 
“ Secrets is bothersome things, and blood is 
stronger than water. Joe must have knowed 
Moses was dead, and missed him all the time, 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 107 

but insted of cryin’ about, like the rest of us, 
he jest let the fiddle talk fer him. I might er 
knowed how ’twould be ! ” 

No wonder there had been a look of triumph 
on Joe’s face when he said, “ I will play for you 
to-morrow night, that you, too, may dream of 
music.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

There was a wave of excitement passing 
over Putnam Mills, and on this wave the first 
City Boarder made her advent. And of all 
things, the very last person to open her house 
for any such purpose was Samanthy Sslib ! 
But stranger things happen in life than in fic- 
tion, and true it was, that a young lady from the 
city was stopping at the Sslib house. Aunt 
Nabby had never seen her, but she listened to 
the news of her presence there with a crimson 
glow burning on each cheek. 

“ I wonder who she is, Joe ; do you know, and 
do they know her ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” was his reply ; “ but they 
said at the store last night that the Square had 
opened his house for a regular summer sortment, 
and they guessed he’d get enough of it. The 
postmaster corrected them, and said they meant 
summer resort, and that the Squire had brought 
108 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. IO9 

the girl home with him from Portland on his 
last trip there.” 

Aunt Nabby tossed her curls and Joe ran 
away to school, but she rocked very hard as she 
sat under the old elm in the front yard, wonder- 
ing “just what sort of a creetur this summer 
boarder was.” She was full of curiosity about 
everything that concerned the Sslib house, de- 
spite her professed dislike for them, and she 
was talking to the calf, which was hitched so 
near her, that he reached over occasionally to 
chew the hem of her apron. 

“ I wonder what Square Sslib will do next,” 
she said. “ I’d jest like ter git a squint at that 
girl from the city ; don’t see one very often,” 
but her words were cut short by a bellow from 
the calf, as he jumped the length of his rope, and 
stood perfectly still, with all four feet spread 
wide apart, and head down, as if challenging 
the approaching object. There was something, 
which Aunt Nabby thought looked like a 
woman, bearing straight down upon them, and 
sitting atop and astride of what she took to be a 
bar of steel above two wheels that were ar- 
ranged, as she afterward said, “ like the Squire’s 
horses, when he drove ‘ tantrum,’ ” as all the 


I 10 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


villagers called it. Straight on top of the steel 
bar, the strange girl-woman rode, with her 
knees moving up and down, up and down, till 
she came to a place where the front wheel stuck, 
and then, raising her body from the seat, she 
spurred with all her might, till the vehicle, first 
with a shiver and then a thrill, went “ wibblety- 
wabblety ” up the path, straight toward Aunt 
Nabby and the calf. 

“ That contrary thing seemed ter be alive,” 
Aunt Nabby afterward said; “and jest like an 
obstinate creetur, went exactly where she didn’t 
want it ter go. She was terrible red in the face, 
and didn’t look as if she was enjoyin’ herself 
very much, and when she tried ter turn out 
past the elm-tree, the pesky thing jest wibbled 
t’other way, and run straight inter the tree. 
She put out her hand ter steer it away, and I 
vum if she didn’t run, just as fast as she could 
stiver, inter the calf. Reminded me, fer all the 
world, of Darius Green, fer away with a beller 
our calf fled, and then he turned, too, and 
showed his blood, fer he kicked the spokes in 
them wheels till they was all bent up, ’fore she 
could git it out from under his heels. When 
she picked up the thing and walked away ter 


AUNT NABBY S CHILDREN. 


Ill 


set it up against the elm-tree, she was the most 
curious lookin’ creetur ! Why, she stood as if 
she had been broken in two, once, right at the 
waist line, and when they fastened her together 
again, they made a mistake and put her chest 
farther forward than it ought to be, and her 
arms was set ter swingin’ jest like two pendalums 
on a clock, that was tipped so’t they couldn’t 
help swingin’, when once they got ter goin’. I 
looked at her, with all my eyes, but I couldn’t 
make out whether she was a child or a woman. 
From her knees up, she looked like a woman, 
but from there down she looked like a child, till 
yer got to her shoes, and then she looked, fer 
all the world, as if she had borrowed her father’s. 
I was so surprised I forgot myself, and said, 
aloud : 

“ ‘ Well, I s’pose yer lucky ter have a father 
ter borrer shoes of. That’s more’n I’ve got ! ’ 

“She jest burst out laughin’ at that, and I 
got up courage ter ask her if she was a child or 
a woman, and she laughed again, and said, in the 
sweetest voice I ever heard, ‘ Oh, I’m a young 
lady, you know, but we all have to wear short 
skirts when we ride bicyles.’ 

“ I wus dumbfounded. 


I 12 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


“ ‘ Well, of all things, is that a bicycle ? I’ve 
heard tell of them, but I never seen one before. 
Don’t manage themselves very well, do they, 
now ? Do they always get under the feet of 
things that kicks the hardest ? ’Cause if they 
do, I should certainly want my life insurance 
raised ’fore I got onter one.’ ” 

Aunt Nabby looked searchingly at the girl, 
and then ventured to offer a suggestion. 

“ Did yer know yer belt’s droppin’ down in 
front, and a-ridin’ right up in the middle of yer 
back ? ” 

But the caller only looked a little scornful 
and pushed the silver girdle down in front, till 
Aunt Nabby thought it almost reached her 
knees. “Lor’ sakes,” she said, “I didn’t know 
what ter make of her, anyway. Her hair was 
all failin’ over her face, but when I told her of 
it, she only run her fingers through it ter make 
it lay clean over ter her eyebrows. ‘It’s a 
pompydoor,’ she said, but I didn’t know what 
that was, and so I changed the subject. She 
was a terrible bright, pert little thing, and 
when she moved around I smelled spring violets 
and thought of all sort er things that was nice. 
But there was somethin’ I could not understand, 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


I 13 

and that was the strange rustle about her clothes 
every time she moved. I stood it till it nettled 
me, and roused all my curiosity, and then I 
couldn’t stand it no longer, an’ I jest up and 
asked her what it was. 

“ Upon that she pulled up her dress, and the 
whole wrong side of it was lined with silk ! and 
then that was nothin’, but there was a lovely 
changeable petticoat that shimmered all the 
colours of the rainbow. That floored me ! I 
only held up my hands in surprise, till I got my 
breath, and then I told her that I had been 
brought up ter think that I was pooty lucky if 
I got silk ter wear on the outside, an’ asked her 
if she knew her dress was on the wool side 
out. She laughed again, ser sweet I had ter 
laugh too, an’ then she told me she come from 
the Square’s house, and that she was his city 
boarder ! ” Here Aunt Nabby usually paused, 
for her feelings overpowered her, but it is pleas- 
ant to relate that at that critical moment the 
young lady came to the rescue, by asking her 
name, and saying that her own was “ Miss Fay,” 
and that she hoped to be in their beautiful vil- 
lage for some time to come. “Will you give 
me a drink of water, please ? ” 


I 14 AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 

It was then that Aunt Nabby revived, and 
found her tongue and her usual curiosity. 

“ Come right in, v she said. “Here’s some 
fresh water I jest drawed from the well. Come 
from the Square’s, did yer ? Well, won’t yer 
take off yer things ? ” Aunt Nabby had failed 
to note that Miss Fay wore no outside wraps. 

“ Be they washin’ at Samanthy’s ter-day ? I 
jest got mine out, done the coloured ones, but 
hain’t got round ter the white ones yet.” Here 
she paused to pull a curl over her forehead, and 
drew her features into a sideways tangle that 
the village boys called “Nabby’s snuff.” She 
was full of curiosity, and pursued her questions 
as if she feared her caller would vanish before 
answering them. 

“ Did Samanthy tell yer about our tame 
squirrels, Dick and Moses ? Why, they used 
ter come here fer miles ter see them squirrels 
play. Yes, Joe he ketched Moses and Dick 
when they wa’n’t more’n a week old, and Moses 
slept right under his arm all night, jest so,” and 
she folded her hand caressingly under her own 
arm. “He alius thought more of Joe than he 
did of me, and Lor’ sakes ! Miss Fay, I dunno 
as yer’ll believe what I’m goin’ ter tell yer, but 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


1 15 

I hain’t goin’ ter tell nothin’ that ain’t true. 
Well, sir, all the time Moses was alive, he slept 
in the closet in Joe’s room, and I couldn’t take 
a pair of Joe’s pants out er the room. It was 
all right if I wanted ter make up the bed, or 
tidy the room, but jest let me tech anything of 
Joe’s, and that squirrel would jump right at me. 
Had any green stuff off’n the farm at the 
Square’s yet ? Some radishes ? I don’t like 
them, but Moses used ter like ’em, and we used 
ter walk clear over ter the Mills ter get ’em for 
him. 

“ Yes, Miss Fay, I come from the same family 
of Quests that has the little buryin’-ground down 
there in the field back er the barn. My grand- 
father built this house here, but he used ter live 
in a log cabin, down close beside where he set out, 
the little graveyard. I dare say if he’d ’a’ thought 
he’d ever ’a’ built this house, he’d ’a’ planted the 
cemetery so ’twould have been closer ter the 
house. Yer see, my Uncle Theodore, he used ter 
live here after grandpa died. Lor’ ! this house is 
ninety odd year old. I wish yer could have 
seen it as they tell about it in them days ; they 
kept the front hall fer a wood-shed, and that 
room next the road had jest a floor for finishin’. 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


i 1 6 

Uncle Theodore’s two sisters lived with him, and 
Lor’ sakes ! I don’t know what added them girls, 
for though they must have been sixty year old, 
they was scairt ter sleep alone, and so they 
and Uncle Theodore all bunked in one room. 
Their bed was over in the corner next the entry, 
and his next the road. Square Sslib used ter 
be fond er going berryin’ ; has he took you ? 
Moses, he liked berries and peanuts, and Lor’ 
sakes ! yer jest ought ter been here one day, 
when the’ was a feller came here a-sellin’ spec- 
tacles. I told him my eyes was all right, but 
perhaps he could sell Moses some glasses, and 
he picked up his little box and foileyed me inter 
the room with his face a-shinin’. I wish yer 
could have seen Moses step out ter meet him, 
he set up so straight and pert, and laugh, — 
why, I came nigh never gettin’ that man out of 
the room. In two weeks’ time he come back, 
and he says, says he, ‘’Twas a good job yer 
done, foolin’ me the way yer did. I don’t re- 
sent it one bit. I went home and told my wife 
of it, and she died a-laughin’. ’Twas a good 
joke ! ’ Don’t hurry, Miss Fay. I wish yer’d 
come often. Is — is the Square ter home now ? 
I hain’t seen him drive past lately.” 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


II 7 


“No, he has gone to the city for a month. 
Thank you for your kindness. I will come to 
see you again.” 

Gone fer a month ! ” and Aunt Nabby 
dropped into a chair. “ Then I must wait till he 
gets home. I had made up my mind ter tell 
him before another sun went down. This strain 
on my conscience is a-killin’ me. Seems as if 
I couldn’t stand it another day.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Three weeks later a sudden change had 
come to the Quest household. Aunt Nabby 
had been ‘uneasy ever since the day Miss Fay 
had visited her. Something was troubling her, 
and finally she tied on her bonnet one rainy 
morning, and called upon Samanthy Sslib. The 
result of this call was that Samanthy came over 
to stay with the children a few days while Aunt 
Nabby went to Portland. She was tired and 
nervous, Samanthy told the children, and 
needed a rest. Miss Fay had also gone back 
to her home, but she had left one sad and lonely 
little heart behind her. From the first moment 
when Joe had met her walking in the woods, 
and listened to the music of her voice and the 
soft rustling of her silken skirts, and noted the 
subtle grace of her every moment, he had been 
a changed boy. He dreamed all day long now, 
and had even discarded the old fiddle for hours 
at a time. There was a broken chain of mem- 
118 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


II 9 

ories reviving within him, that, dream as he 
might, he could not link together. Some tie 
bound her to his past, and now that she was 
gone, he still heard the delicious music of her 
voice, and the swish of her silken skirts. 
“ What do I hear when you move ? ” he had 
said to her ; “ a sound that is soft and nice ; I 
like it. And who are you ? ” She laughed half 
sadly, and Joe seemed to hear the warble of the 
song-bird, the babbling of the summer brook, 
and to feel the balmy flower-scented breeze 
from the meadow, whenever he recalled that 
laugh. And then she had shaken out her 
silken robes, and he had gazed long and won- 
deringly at the soft tints of opal and pink, while 
his heart passed out of his keeping into the 
sheen of their rustling folds. 

For days after Fay went home, Joe seemed very 
unhappy, and finally, the next morning following 
Aunt Nabby’s departure, he was missing. The 
belief that the strange girl could help him solve 
the mystery of his past had taken such strong 
hold upon him that he had gone to find her. 

The morning light was breaking, and a faint 
tinge from the rising sun was visible in the 


120 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


east. All nature seemed to rejoice, and birds 
hopped from bough to bough, and, twittering 
like babies just learning to talk, seemed to gain 
confidence in the sunlight, and broke forth into 
joyous song that echoed through the woods and 
meadows, and caused a dreaming boy under a 
hay-stack close by to open his eyes and look 
about him. A soft breeze fanned the boughs 
of an old oak over his head, till the leaves rus- 
tled like the swish of a silken robe. 

The boy’s lips quivered, and he whispered : 
“ Fay, my Fay, are you there ? Have you come 
to tell me — to tell me all ? I have thought I 
heard you time and again, but it’s always some 
one else,” and he burst into tears. “ It’s been 
a long time since Joe left home,” he con- 
tinued, “ and his heart is sad and his body sore. 
Twice yesterday I thought I heard the soft 
rustle of her skirts, and then I lost it in the 
crowd, and there’s a strange stiff feeling in my 
cheeks that feels as if I never laughed, and 
never could again. The’s something heavy 
pulling at Joe’s heart, and he most wishes he’d 
stayed at home — or had the old fiddle with 
him.” And he arose and walked on toward the 
town. 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


1 2 I 


At twilight of that summer evening Squire 
Sslib walked slowly up to the lobby of a vaude- 
ville theatre, and after some deliberation bought 
a ticket and entered. Now something very 
strange and almost incredible happened, di- 
rectly after this, for the Squire had no sooner 
disappeared inside than Aunt Nabby, peering 
cautiously from behind a tree where she was 
sitting on a rustic seat, arose and, following 
in his footsteps, bought a ticket and went in 
and seated herself directly behind the Squire. 
There was a look of pale determination on her 
face, as if she did not intend he should escape 
her this time, till she had spoken the words she 
so long had wished to say. 

While Aunt Nabby was fanning herself, with 
her eyes riveted on the bald head just in front 
of her, instead of the stage, a pale-faced boy 
standing in the lobby, and attracted by the 
sound of the orchestra, had stepped to the box- 
office and cheerfully paid his last penny for 
an entrance. He stood under the gallery, just 
behind Aunt Nabby and the Squire, but he saw 
only the stage, and drank in the music with a 
delight that made him oblivious to everything 
else. The curtain arose, and a girl so light and 


122 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


graceful that she seemed to be not of earth 
glided forward and took her place over a glass 
set into the floor of the stage, just behind the 
footlights. The strains of the orchestra swelled 
into a wild allegro as she swung her silken 
skirts about her and was lost in the grace of 
the ballet. Joe’s heart stood still. Every 
movement of the lithe body, every fold of its 
shimmering drapery, wrapped him in an ecstasy 
of delight and pain. He had found her at last, 
his beautiful Fay, but how could this dancing 
girl be one and the same with the Squire’s 
boarder, and how could she tell him of his past ? 
The lights changed. Now her draperies glowed 
all in rainbow tints, now a crimson light, warm 
and alluring, and now — what did he see ? Surely 
there was smoke, and then, oh, horror unutter- 
able ! Fay seemed dancing in living flames. 
They leaped and curled about her like hungry 
fiends, while she danced and smiled and waved 
her silken skirts. He saw the frightful sight 
reflected in a world of mirrors around her, 
until his tired brain was bewildered with their 
horrors. He could neither move nor speak, 
and then — Fay seemed swallowed up in flames 
and the darkness of flight was over all. 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 1 23 

When the lights were turned on, those sitting 
near the door were startled at the white, girlish 
face of a boy who had fainted and fallen forward 
on to the seat in front of him. 

The noise of the ushers bearing him out at- 
tracted the attention of Aunt Nabby and the 
Squire at the same moment. When the latter 
turned around, his eye fell on Nabby first, and 
then upon. Joe’s white face, and he sprang from 
his seat to follow him, wholly unmindful of the 
fact that she was walking hurriedly at his side. 
Joe was lying upon the floor in the lobby, and 
Aunt Nabby bent lovingly over him, to feel for 
his heart and caress his slender hands, and 
then she turned to the ushers, saying : 

“ He is ours ; leave him with us,” and her eye 
met the Squire’s wondering gaze without a 
waver. 

“ Square Sslib, will yer call a carriage and 
come with Joe and me to my room ? I’ve 
somethin’ ter say to yer, that yer may not be 
sorry ter hear. Somethin’ I’ve come all the 
way from Putnam Mills ter say.” Not an- 
other word was spoken till they had entered 
Aunt Nabby’s room, and when she opened her 
mouth to speak he held up a warning finger. 


124 AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 

“ I’ve something ter say ter you, Nabby,” he 
said, “ before yer have yer say ter me, fer I feel 
that I have a right in all three of them childern 
of yours, that yer don’t know nothin’ about, an’ 
I ought ter have confessed long ago,” and he 
drew a soiled envelope from his pocket and 
placed it in her hands. 

“ I found it lyin’ in the road, early the next 
mornin’, an’ I tried ter give it back ter yer, an’ 
I come an’ knocked at yer door, but yer wouldn’t 
let me in.” 

Aunt Nabby looked falteringly at the envel- 
ope, and saw with surprise that it was directed 
simply, “To God.” 

“ I found it,” the Squire continued, guiltily, 
“an’ I never could give it up after that first 
day. I’ve carried it close ter me in my vest 
pocket, and it has kinder pricked my conscience 
and kep’ me a-doin’ the best I knowed how ever 
since. I loved them childern before, but I’ve 
had a double interest in ’em all three ever since. 
Yer don’t mind my tellin’ yer, Nabby, that 
Elder Parsons is still a-livin’ on my best farm, 
an’ me a-payin’ his taxes fer nothin’ ever since 
I read that letter ; and that the’s a snug sum 
of money in the bank fer Samanthy, all on ac- 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 1 25 

count of the same. The’s tender spots and 
places in my heart that I never knowed till I 
read that letter of Beth’s, and so the’s a snug 
little sum in the bank fer her, too, if yer willin’ 
ter accept it.” 

Aunt Nabby had stood pale and trembling 
while the Squire was speaking, and Joe, who 
was quite recovered before they reached the 
house, lay with wide-opened eyes, scarcely able 
to comprehend what so* strangely was taking 
place before him. 

Aunt Nabby raised a warning finger, till the 
Squire, beginning to understand that she wished 
him to give her a chance to speak, stopped with 
a sentence half finished, as she drew a letter 
from her bosom and placed it in his hands. 

‘‘Take that,” she said; “it has burnt my 
conscience till I couldn’t carry it another day, 
and I have come here ter find yer.” 

Squire Sslib glanced at the address. It was 
clearly directed to “Master Joe Sslib,” in a 
handwriting that brought memories of bygone 
days teeming to the Squire’s brain. His hand 
trembled visibly, but he read the letter through, 
and placed it calmly in Joe’s hands. “Read it, 
my boy, it is yo\irs, from your father written 


126 


AUNT NABBY’s CHILDREN. 


when he was dying, and committin’ yer ter my 
care fer the rest of yer life, or till yer are old 
enough ter care fer yourself.” 

Joe’s eyes sparkled with excitement, but he 
was too weak to understand what it all meant, 
till the Squire proceeded to explain to him as 
follows : 

“ Tis only to-day, my boy, that I have learned 
you and Kate are the childern of my brother, 
who left us so many years ago. The letter ex- 
plains how he had placed you in the care of a 
young sister of your dead mother, and had left 
her money to take care of yer, tellin’ her ter 
give yer ter me when she found me. That 
aunt was the dancin’- girl you saw ter-night, and 
the one who wrote ter me fer summer board, 
and has been with Samanthy and me all summer. 
When she was at the house, me and Samanthy 
suspicion ed, by somethin’ she said, that she 
knew more about you childern than she was 
willin’ ter tell, and I started off ter this town 
ter foller some clue^she give me without meanin’ 
ter. This mornin’ I found her, an’ she owned it 
all up, but said she thought yer had been with 
me all this time, and that she sent yer here by 
a friend, who stole yer money and run away. 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 1 27 

P’raps its true, and p’raps ’tain’t, but, Nabby, I 
must thank you fer all yer lovin’ care of these 
childern. Yer’ve brought ’em up better’n ever 
I could, and it’s all jest right,” and he held out 
his hand to her, and she took it in her trembling 
grasp. 

“ It’s the queerest mix-up I ever seen, Square, 
but things is a-comin’ out all fer the best,” and 
she brushed away a tear of happiness. “ If yer 
brother left yer, Square, fer his fiddle, you’ve 
got the childern in his place, and ’pears ter me 
they more than make up the loss ; ” but even as 
she spoke her chin quivered at thought of 
what it would mean to her to give up the 
children. 

The Sqtiire saw and understood, and a mis- 
chievous smile flitted over his face, as he said 
simply, “ We’ll let bygones be bygones, 
Nabby.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then 
the Squire, coming close to Aunt Nabby, took 
her hand in his, and she allowed it to remain 
thefe. 

“The’s somethin’ more I have ter tell yer, 
Nabby,” he whispered. “ Do yer remember 
the night yer saw me help a girl from the evenin’ 


128 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 


stage and lead her up the lane ter the seat under 
the great oak-tree ? And when yer came upon 
us her head was laid on my shoulder, an’ yer 
passed us by without speakin’. * I tried ter 
explain it one night, Nabby, but yer wouldn’t 
listen, and then I promised afterward ter keep 
the secret, and I couldn’t tell yer. That girl 
was my brother’s wife, and the mother of Kate 
and Joe. Their father had married her without 
the consent or knowledge of his folks an’ went 
away and left her for months. She was in 
want, and came on ter me, ter tell me her trou- 
bles, and when yer passed us, she had fainted 
and lay on my shoulder fer support. I’ve car- 
ried the weight of her little form and her grief 
fer all these years, Nabby, and now if it hadn’t 
been fer her children I never could have ex- 
plained ter you. Shall we let bygones be 
bygones now?” 

A heavy frost lay over the earth, and the 
leafless twigs of the woodbine tapped in vain at 
the dark windows of the old Quest house, for it 
was closed. 

Nancy Abby Pamely Quest had become Mrs. 
Sslib ! On this dreary November night, the 


AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 1 29 

same wind that tossed the naked branches of 
the woodbine hurried on down the hill, dimpling 
the waters of the mill-pond as it passed, and 
blew its way through the crevices of an un- 
curtained window in the back of the Squire’s 
big, airy kitchen, where it gently tossed Beth’s 
hair as she sat close to the window studying her 
arithmetic lesson for the morrow. She was 
radiantly happy now, for she looked into the 
future with the certainty that her fondest hopes 
were to be fulfilled. She was going to the 
academy at Jefferson, in the spring. 

Over by the fire, Samanthy sat with a dreamy 
look of delight on her pale face, for Joe was at 
her feet with the old violin in his hands, and a 
soft ripple, like the sound of distant waters, 
mingling with the song of birds, filled the room. 
He always played sitting so, at Samanthy’s feet, 
saving now and then on a clear bright morning, 
when he stole away to climb the beech-tree over 
Moses’s grave, where he poured out the burden 
of all his past grief to the little ears that he 
fully believed heard and sympathised with him. 
But Joe was supremely happy now, for he had 
solved the mystery of the past, and looked into 
the future with a delight akin to Beth’s, for he, 


130 AUNT NABBY’S CHILDREN. 

too, was going to college as soon as he was 
fitted to enter. There were other delights 
which were his, too, for out in the Squire’s 
warm barn, with their heads tucked beneath 
their wings, were Biddy Creamer, Trap, and the 
old drake, with all his grown-up family, for, in 
short, all the Quest household had moved over 
to the Squire’s with Aunt Nabby, whose cup of 
happiness was now full. 

“I cast my bread out on the water,” she said, 
“ when I took them blessed childern, and it 
come back ter me a heap more’n I cast out.” 

Kate was cuddled in the Squire’s arms half 
asleep, but when Aunt Nabby spoke, she 
opened her eyes and shot a mischievous glance 
from her to the Squire, as she said : 

“ I guess Aunt Nabby’s changed her mind, 
’cause once when I told her that the Square 
was awful nice, she looked so mad that I never 
dared ter tell her so again.”. 


THE END. 


NEW JUVENILES 


THE 

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By MARY F. WADE 

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Volume I. 

Our Little Japanese Cousin 

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Our Little Russian Cousin 

•A 

These are the most interesting and delightful accounts 
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Our Devoted Friend 



By SARAH K. BOLTON 


AUTHOR OF cc GIRLS WHO HAVE BECOME 


FAMOUS,” ETC. 


Fully illustrated with many reproductions from original 
photographs 


i vol., small quarto, $1.50 


This book of the dog and his friends does for the 
canine member of the household what Helen M. Win- 
slow’s book, “Concerning Cats,” did for the feline. 
No one who cares for dogs — and that class includes 
nearly all who do not care for cats, and some who do — 
will admit that the subject of Mrs. Bolton’s book is a less 
felicitous choice than that of its predecessor ; while the 
author’s well-known ability as a writer and lecturer, as 
well as her sympathy with her subject, are a sufficient 
guarantee of a happy treatment. * 


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NEW JUVENILES 

Prince Harold 

A FAIRY STORY 

By L. F. BROWN 

With ninety full-page illustrations 
Large i2mo, cloth, $1.50 

Jfc 

A delightful fairy tale for children, dealing with the 
life of a charming young Prince, who, aided by the Moon 
Spirit, discovers, after many adventures, a beautiful girl 
whom he makes his Princess. He is so enamored that 
he dwells with his bride in complete seclusion for a 
while, entrusting the conduct of his kingdom meantime 
to his monkey servant, Longtail. The latter marries 
a monkey princess from Amfalulu, and their joint reign is 
described with the drollest humor. The real rulers 
finally return and upset the reign of the pretenders. An 
original and fascinating story for young people. 

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NEW JUVENILES 


THE 

Rosamond Tales 

By CUYLER REYNOLDS 

With many full-page illustrations from original photo- 
graphs by the author , together with a frontispiece from a 
drawing by Maud Humphreys . 

Large i2mo, cloth, $1.50 

These are just the bedtime stories that children always 
ask for, but do not always get. Rosamond and Rosalind 
are the hero and heroine of many happy adventures in 
town and on their grandfather’s farm ; and the happy 
listeners to their story will unconsciously absorb a vast 
amount of interesting knowledge of birds, animals, and 
flowers, just the things about which the curiosity of 
children from four to twelve years old is most insatiable. 
The book will be a boon to tired mothers, as a delight to 
wide-awake children. 


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NEW JUVENILES 

’Tilda Jane 

By MARSHALL SAUNDERS 

AUTHOR OF “ BEAUTIFUL JOE,” CC FOR HIS 
COUNTRY,” ETC. 

Fully illustrated 
i vol., i2mo, $1.50 

A charming and wholesome story for girls, handled 
with unusual charm and skill, which was issued serially 
in the Youth's Companion . 

’Tilda Jane is a runaway orphan from a Maine asylum, 
who wanders over the Canadian border into the settle- 
ments of the habitants. The simple lives of the peasants, 
their fine characters and racial traits give a characteristic 
charm to the story, and the delightful girl heroine will 
endear herself to young and old readers. 

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OCT 29 190| 












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